


Leap

by LupusYondergirl



Series: Leap [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupusYondergirl/pseuds/LupusYondergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <div class="center"><img/></div><br/>"Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap."<br/>Malina has spent her life hiding from the Templars, but she's starting to realize fear can be just as much a prison as the Circle.<br/>Eventual f-mage Hawke/Anders, DA2 spoilers, eventual M/AO
            </blockquote>





	1. We didn't go in that order

**18 Cloudreach 9:17 Dragon**   
**The Arling of West Hills, Ferelden**

Resisting the urge to shout, Malcolm Hawke calmly stared down the cause of his current problems. A near-riot in the streets of the small town he had lived in quite happily for nearly two years, his wife in tears, and his son tearing the house apart bit by bit. Three things that, had they occurred alone, would have quite easily ruined his otherwise uneventful day. When combined the overall effect made him question why he ever thought escaping the Kirkwall Circle and running off to Ferelden would be a good idea in the first place. The source of the troubles remained silent, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, they focused on their feet, red with shame.

Not that he could blame them. Even he remembered enough of his life before being taken away to know that few children would relish being yelled at by their father.

"All right, girls, let's try and decide where we went wrong today. Any suggestions?" Malcolm sat back, pushing too-long hair from his eyes as he watched his two daughters in the dim light of their root cellar.

"No fire in near straw," his firstborn answered promptly.

Malcolm did sigh then, raising an eyebrow and staring down the eight year old. " _Malina_ …"

She made a face, pouting. "All right. No fire anywhere."

"A good start," he admitted, finding it difficult to stay angry in the face of what was, in reality, his _wife's_ pout on a much smaller scale. His wife's pout topped with his own red hair, which, as he had always expected, looked far better on a female head than it ever had on his own. "I think we may be missing the larger part of the problem. Missing it intentionally, if I'm not mistaken." She didn't answer, looking at her hands instead.

"Bethany?" he asked, pinning the smaller girl in his gaze.

Twirling black hair around a finger, she shifted in her seat, glancing from her father to her older sister and back again. Finally, in a small voice, she whispered "never let anyone know."

" _There_ we go," he said, momentarily pleased that _both_ of his daughters hadn't been struck by willful idiocy. "And why not?"

A crashing noise came from upstairs. "I don't _wanna_ move again!" came the shout, accompanied by the sound of a young boy stomping from one side of the house to the other. Both girls shrank further into their seats.

"Because we have to move," Bethany said.

Malcolm made a noise of agreement, gesturing for her to go on. " _Why_ do we have to move?"

"So the Templars won't find us?" Malina asked, looking at her father again. "Because they'll take us away." Her desire to keep tightlipped had apparently faded once she realized Bethany wouldn't join her in silence.

He nodded, sitting forward again and sighing in exhaustion. "Exactly. So… can you two please explain why the scarecrow was on fire today? In full view of all the neighbors?"

"I didn't mean to," Bethany began, nervously gripping her older sister's hand.

At the same time, Malina said "it was an accident. _Really._ "

Malcolm sighed, too tired to hide his frustration. "I know it was an accident. I'd be yelling a _lot_ more if I suspected you intentionally torched the scarecrow. And believe me, I _know_ it isn't easy. I've been through it, too… But you _have_ to try. If they catch you, there won't be a thing your mother or I can do to help. You'll never see us or your brother again."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Malina said quietly.

"Me too," Bethany added. "I promise I'll be more good."

Smiling slightly, he leaned forward, kissing his younger daughter on the forehead. " _Better_ , sweetheart. We don't say _more good_ , we say _better_."

"I promise I'll be better?" she asked.

"I know you will." He stood, waiting near the door. Male voices filtered through the floorboards, muffled by the old carpet covering the hatch. He quickly pulled both girls into his arms, gesturing for silence. Silently praying they couldn't feel his heart threatening to burst in his chest, Malcolm tried to keep a calm exterior. He would have no chance of keeping them calm if either realized how terrified he was. As the men shouted, demanding to know where the apostates were, Bethany began to cry. Without a word Malina reached over, covering her sister's mouth.

"I don't _know_ where they are," he could hear his wife saying. "He took both girls and left!" The response was unclear. Doors were being thrown open upstairs, cabinets searched. He could follow their footsteps across the small farmhouse, dust on the floorboards being disturbed with every metal-clad step.

"Do you have a cellar?"

Malcolm's breath froze in his lungs. _No, no, please no. Not my children, Maker don't let them find my children._ He shifted, staring at the trapdoor as if he could will it to remain closed. With a whispered apology he pulled his daughters closer, covering their mouths himself, one hand for each, now that both of them were crying in fear. He hated to do it, but two sobbing children could be just enough noise to give them away.

"What, you think I'm the Arl or something? A cellar. Ha!" Leandra was trying to distract them by playing the annoyed housewife, while keeping up a constant stream of chatter to drown out any potential noise from the cellar. "You ask me, we'd all be better off if you lads did something to really help us common folk, not just stand around the Chantry in your fancy armor all day. You think I need a cellar? Come dig one for me!" She began to rattle off a list of household chores they could assist with once that was done.

"Can I see your sword," came another voice. When that request was refused more questions came on its heels. "Why do you wear dresses? Did Andraste say you have to?" Carver, Maker bless him, was doing his best to distract the men from their holy business.

The templars were clearly becoming annoyed with the nonstop demands for housework and the incessant questioning of a curious six year old. They began to excuse themselves. "Of _course_ I'll let you know if they return," his wife went on. "What, you think I _want_ those… those _things_ in my house? I've got a boy to raise, and he's _normal_." Leandra had gotten very good at telling them what they wanted to hear over the years.

More conversation, none of it important, and the slam of the door. Eventually there was a rustling overhead, dust sifting through the floorboards as the carpet was pulled away. The hidden door opened and Malcolm looked up into the pale eyes of his wife, red rimmed with exhaustion. "All clear, for now."

"You're sure?"

"I watched them walk back to the Chantry,"

"Thank you, Leandra," he said before returning his attention to the girls. Holding his youngest to him, Malcolm brushed her hair back from her face. "It's all right, sweetheart," he said. "They're gone. You're safe." Eventually her sobs calmed into sniffles and she nodded. "Run upstairs and start packing. We have to leave before dawn." After a moment of hesitation he cast a small rejuvenation spell. Hopefully nothing the templars could sense at this distance, just enough to keep the little girls awake through the long night ahead.

Bethany scrambled up the stairs on hands and feet. Once they were alone Malcolm turned to his oldest child, dropping to one knee so they were on eye level. "I know you want to help her," he said, "but lying about something like this isn't the way. She needs to learn how to control herself, just like you did at her age. Just like I did when I was a boy." Malina nodded, looking embarrassed. "I'm glad you're trying to protect Bethany, but _I'm_ not who she needs protection from!"

"It's all stupid Carver's fault. He put a frog in her hair! She got scared! You should yell at _him_."

"I know what he did, and I've already talked to him," Malcolm said sternly. "We're talking about what _you_ did now. Did you really expect anyone to believe _lightning_ hit the scarecrow?"

"Well… that's almost what happened?" she said, offering a gap-toothed grin.

"You _know_ what I mean. You're the oldest, you should be looking out for your brother and sister by setting a good example. Not teaching them to tell wild stories and lie."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said again, smile crashing.

"All right," he said, standing up. "Remember, people like us have to be careful. The only way an apostate can stay safe is to stay hidden."

"Yes, Daddy."

"And Maker's breath, I can't keep you safe if you act like _I'm_ a templar. I'm getting _very_ tired of telling you that." She nodded and he waved her off. "Go on up, get your things together and then see if Bethany and Carver need any help."

"All right."

"And be nice to your brother. You know Carver was just starting to make friends here."

"Fine," she said, making a face.

"That's my girl," he said, tousling her hair and ignoring the pout. He followed her from the cellar, sitting quietly at the table for a moment before glancing up at the sound of a chair being pulled out.

"Mal," his wife said quietly as she sat, "do you ever wonder if we're doing the right thing?"

"No," he responded without hesitation. A moment later he stared at her, worry spread across his face . "Leandra, you don't want to send them to—"

"Maker, no!" she said emphatically. "I… I just worry. Will they be safe, what will happen if they're caught… what kind of life will they have, always hiding?" She sighed. "Will they ever get married, have families? _How_ could they? If they let anyone get that close—"

Malcolm cleared his throat, breaking off her list of worries. "I managed just fine," he said wryly.

"How many rebellious children of noble families do you think there _are_?" she replied, matching his expression of amusement.

He laughed, reaching across the table to briefly squeeze her hand. "Leandra, they'll have a _free_ life, their _own_ life. Besides, if I managed I'm sure they'll be fine. Have you _seen_ our daughters lately? Unless they get hit in the face repeatedly between now and their teenage years, which is unlikely since both are capable of burning anyone who tries alive, I think I'll end up permanently playing the creepy apostate father just to scare the boys away." He paused, considering the idea. "It _would_ finally give me a chance to use that staff with a skull on the end of it." She rolled her eyes and Malcolm laughed. "For now… they're as safe with us as in the Circle. Safer, really. You don't _know_ what it's like there. What the templars _do_ to those girls…" He made a face, eyes darkening. "I'll die before I see them there." Meeting his wife's eyes, he offered a sardonic grin. "Well, come to think of it, odds are that is exactly how it would happen. I somehow doubt they'd believe I got lost and _accidentally_ ended up in Ferelden, married, and with three children."

"I wish you wouldn't joke about things like that."

"Better to tear at my hair and weep?" he shrugged. "Sorry, it hasn't been an easy day. Not that there have been many of those in the last few years, but…"

"This… they _will_ get better, right?"

"They will," he said. "Malina already is, you just can't tell since she's got it in her head to cover up for Bethany at every turn." He leaned back, arms folded. "At that age… it's much more of a struggle. They're strong girls, though. They'll master their powers." Leandra didn't respond, but she did look slightly reassured by his words. "How is Carver dealing with all this?"

"Oh, he says we should give them to the templars. Or dragons."

Malcolm sighed. "He'll understand why we did this when he's older. I wish we could somehow explain it—"

"Sweetheart, you don't understand how brothers and sisters are," his wife broke in. "My brother and I were at each other's throats from the time we could walk. He'd say we should feed them to a dragon even if they _weren't_ mages."

Malcolm shook his head. "Why is it we had children, again? Why not just get married?"

Leandra gave him a wicked grin. "Since we didn't go in that order, love."

"Riiiight…" he laughed. "Let's hope Malina never develops a fondness for math and figures that one out."

"She'd probably laugh about it."

Face growing serious again as their son started screaming at his sisters from the second floor, Malcolm sighed. "I hate that he can't settle in because of this. The girls… well, this is better than the alternative for them. Carver could have had a normal life, though."

"A life with a family who loves him is better than what many children get. Just… try and spend more time with him," she said. "You know how he looks up to you. He's so jealous over how much time you spend with the girls."

Malcolm sighed. "I know… you're right. It just takes so much time training them; I feel like I need more hours in the day." He looked up at the stairs. "No… no excuses. He's my boy. He needs to spend time with his father. I'll figure something out. Maybe I'll start teaching him how to take care of a sword while we travel. I think he's getting old enough for that."

"Good," she said, nodding in approval. "We need to get moving. I've barely had time to start packing, and we don't even know where we're going this time." Following her upstairs, he shook his head. This was the fifth move since Malina had first shown signs of magical ability, and the sixth since they were married. Although he hoped it would get easier, something made Malcolm think that, with Bethany also displaying magic, their lives were only bound to get more chaotic.

"Days like this I'm rather glad you're not the sort of woman who loves shelves full of tiny glass figures."

Leandra laughed. "Even if I was, three children under the age of ten would have destroyed them as surely as always sneaking out under the cover of night."

" _Under the cover of night_?" Malcolm made a face as he began folding clothing from their closet. "Sometimes I think you _like_ this sort of thing."

"Who, me," was all she said in response before winking at him. "Don't be silly."


	2. Things have been too quiet lately

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lothering is great. Just ignore the sewage filled creek, the templars, and the absolute impossibility of having anything resembling a normal life.

**12 Kingsway 9:27 Dragon  
Lothering, Southern Bannorn, Ferelden**

Malina liked Lothering. Sure, the little creek running through the middle of town smelled like an open sewer… mostly because that's just what it was, and yes, quite a few of the locals seemed somewhere between "slow mabari" and "clever lump of dirt" in terms of intelligence… that made no difference. Lothering was blessed with something no other town could claim: the most oblivious templar force in the whole of Thedas. Not only had they managed to live quite happily for years, they had done so without so much as a single question. Even when Bethany developed a religious streak and began attending Chantry services over the strenuous objections of, well, _everyone,_ their lives remained calm.

The sisters were sitting on the bridge over open-sewer creek, kicking their legs over the edge. They had been giggling about an Orlesian novel Bethany had found somewhere. "I think it seems silly," Bethany said. "No one talks like that."

Malina shrugged. "I don't know, I thought it was… romantic, you know?"

"As if either of us know anything about that," Bethany said, holding up her long dark hair and fanning her neck, clearly annoyed by the heat.

Malina shrugged. "Well, I—"

"You are almost as pathetic as me and you know it, sister." Bethany laughed, poking her in the side. She was sixteen and had yet to so much as kiss a boy. "And I don't want to hear about some alcohol-influenced poor decisions you made at Dane's Refuge. Some drunk telling you that your eyes reminded him of porter hardly counts!" She bit her lip and fell silent. "What's it like?"

Malina laughed. "As if I'm an expert!" At nineteen her experience could be counted on one hand. Counted on one hand, with enough fingers left for a rude gesture.

"More than me!"

She shrugged. "Would probably be better if I didn't spend most of the time making sure I kept my magic in check. And worrying about dad bursting into the room to set me on fire. Or him. Probably him."

"He wouldn't…. well, all right, he probably would," Bethany eventually agreed. "He means well?"

"Sure he does," Malina said. "We're both going to end up spinsters as a result, but his heart's in the right place. A place that involves no one seeing his daughters naked."

"I think all fathers live in that place," she said. "I'd be a bit afraid of the ones who don't."

"Point," she conceded.

Bethany changed the subject quickly. "You see the new Templar they put in charge?"

Malina nodded. "Handsome," she said, before adding "for a templar."

"He called me _my lady_ at services," her sister said with a laugh. "Granted, I all but ran off as fast as I could after since I hadn't realized he was walking out right behind me. Still, I was surprised."

"You shouldn't even _go_ to services," Malina said. "It's a risk."

"I can't believe the Maker would punish me for attending Chantry," Bethany said quietly. The nervous expression on her face told another story, though.

"I always wonder if they're just waiting for something." Malina was biting her lip and looking at the Chantry. "They _have_ to know. How could they not?"

"If not us, then…" Bethany looked over her shoulder towards home, words trailing off. Malina made a noise of agreement.

Their father had become far less cautious about hiding his magic in recent years. It was all but common knowledge in the town that he could be visited for healing. He swore it kept them safer. _"If they need me they won't turn on me_ ," he had said. _"An apostate isn't nearly as scary when he's delivered your son, cured your mother's illnesses, saved your brother after he was attacked by bandits…"_

While Malina could see the logic behind his reasoning, she also noticed he was still careful to make sure no one realized there were two other mages living in the Hawke household. In one case he almost let a woman die rather than ask one of his daughters to step in after exhausting his own mana. In the end Malina had cast a sleep spell on the bleeding woman from behind her, stepping in with Bethany and disappearing before the patient woke.

"If not him, than the… um… when I…" Malina blushed and shrugged. "Well, _that_ ,"she finished lamely, face as red as her hair.

Bethany put her hand over her older sister's. "You shouldn't be embarrassed," she said quietly. "I don't think you did anything wrong."  
Closing her eyes Malina shuddered, remembering the humiliating incident.

" _Oh, there you are," her father said, looking up. "Where have you been? You missed dinner."_

" _I'm sorry," she said, wondering if running off to the woods was a viable option._  
 _  
No such luck._  
 _  
The front door slammed open and Carver marched in. "Oh good," he sneered, glaring at her. "The Whore of Minrathrous is home. She tell you why we have to move again yet?"_

" _What's this?" her mother said._  
 _  
At the same time her father stood up, glaring at Carver. "Apologize to your sister. And I don't want to hear language like that from you again!"_

" _No!" Carver snapped. "She's the genius who decided it would be a good idea to start casting spells while giving Brent a tumble. Then he ran over and demanded to know why I never mentioned my sister was an apostate." He glared at her, teeth bared._  
 _  
Malina groaned, covering her face. That was one way to tell them… not her first choice, really. Or tenth. Or hundredth. But it was out in the open. And it probably served her right for even considering getting involved with a friend of Carver's in the first place._

" _I'm sorry," she managed to squeak out. "I… I didn't mean to."_  
 _  
Her father stared at her in growing horror before turning away. "This conversation isn't happening, is it? We're not really sitting around the front room discussing… this?" He glanced at her mother. "I'm possessed and trapped in the fade, right? Leandra, please tell me this is all the work of a really creative, particularly mean-spirited, demon."_

" _Yes, exactly," Malina said quickly. "All a dream. I'm off to bed. See you tomorrow."_  
 _  
She tried backing out of the room but her mother was having none of it. "Malina, is it true?"_

" _I didn't mean to," she said again, wringing her hands._

" _Let's, um, forget what you were doing," her father said quickly, "and never mention that again. Ever."_

" _A fine plan," Malina nodded._

" _So… I'm going to assume you were, um, discussing poetry... Why would you cast a spell near someone then? Or ever, for that matter? Have you lost your mind?" He stared at her, looking almost hopeful that she would confirm his suspicion._

" _I wasn't thinking," she said._

" _Clearly," Carver snapped._

" _Would you shut up?" she shouted._

" _Brought this on yourself," he said. "I don't want to move. We're all supposed to be careful and then you go and do this!"_

" _Carver, Malina isn't an idiot. I'm sure she had a very good reason to do what she did," her mother said, in a tone that implied she was, in fact, an absolute idiot and there could be no good reason._

" _Everyone is insane," Malcolm said, sinking back to his chair. "Everyone but me. Well, where will we move now? I'm thinking somewhere without as many teenage boys. Maybe the moon?"_

" _What, she wanted to spice things up a bit?" Carver rolled his eyes, ignoring their father mumbling about locking her in her room until she was forty._

" _Hey!" Malcolm shouted. "_ _ **Reading. Poetry**_ _."_  
 _  
Covering her face for a moment, Malina took a breath. "Fine!" she shouted. "You want to know? Because it hurt, that's why! It hurt, and I was bleeding, and I healed myself without thinking about it. Because I'm an idiot. Is everyone happy now?" Sinking to the ground, she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping arms around folded legs. "And then he called me a monster and left." Leandra was kneeling on the floor a moment later, letting her daughter cry into her shoulder._

" _Oh, Maker," Carver muttered. "I… um…" He winced, his teenage mind trying to sort out the information. "I didn't know you were still… wow. I mean, I'm not even—"_

" _Carver!" Leandra snapped._

" _Um, yeah," he rubbed the back of his neck._

" _Of course I was," she hissed. "I've been afraid something like_ _ **this**_ _would happen!"_  
 _  
He stammered out an apology before quickly leaving the room. She spent the rest of the night sobbing, first into her mother's shoulder, and later into Bethany's._

Malina had pretended not to notice how her father and Carver left the house late that night, or the way her former suitor mysteriously developed a black eye and limp by the next day. Whatever the reason, he never spoke a word of what happened to anyone, and they were able to stay in Lothering.

Malina had come to a decision after that, though. Becoming involved with someone was too high a risk. She couldn't reveal her magic to someone until she trusted them implicitly, and by the time she trusted them enough they would no doubt feel betrayed to have her spring such a large secret on them. It wasn't only her own life she was risking, it was her sister and father as well. A family of apostates couldn't expect to remain hidden forever, and her selfishness had risked bringing the Chantry down on all of them.

"It's all in the past," Bethany said, glancing at her. "Stop worrying." Hopping down she gestured. "Come on, let's go out into the fields and practice for a bit. Someone was complaining about the spiders being back. We can take care of those. Claim we used torches and get the money from the Chanter's board, maybe."

That evening after dinner Malina snuck out to the local tavern, half a silver burning a hole in her pocket. Although her parents had never _forbidden_ it, she knew they wouldn't approve. Her father warned that alcohol led to a loss of self-control, something that could be deadly in her case.  
Sometimes she just wanted to pretend she was normal, even if it was only for a few hours, though. And sitting in a tavern letting some traveler passing through attempt to sweet talk her and ply her with drinks was a good way to accomplish that.

Walking home, she stuck to the edges of the woods. The roads weren't safe at night, but that didn't seem to apply to a woman who could kill with her bare hands from yards away. Her fear was more of the heavily armed and pious sort than the bandits who consistently plagued the outskirts of Lothering. Hearing footsteps, she darted slightly deeper under the cover of the trees.

"I know you're there," a familiar voice called. The dark night was suddenly illuminated by arcs of lightning. "Come out now and I won't hurt you!"  
Gasping in surprise, Malina stumbled out of the woods. He thought _she_ was a bandit! Of course, she had assumed the same of him only moments ago, so being cross hardly seemed fair.

Her father stared at her in shock. "Malina, do I want to know why you're out before dawn?"

"No," she said quickly. "Well, you might. Have you developed a fondness for uncomfortable silences and awkward discussion?"

"Only after a few ales," he replied quickly.

"It does take on a special sort of quality then," she agreed. "But I think dropping the subject for now would lead to far fewer strained conversations at the breakfast table. And I could ask the same of you."

He sighed. "How old are you now?"

"Wow, thanks dad," she laughed. "You don't remember my age? I'm your oldest. I'm _named after you_."

"I'm an old man," he said. "They say the mind is the first thing to go. If it makes you feel any better I called Carver by the dog's name yesterday."

"That's horrible!" Malina said. Her father nodded. "Ser Barks is _much_ smarter than Carver!"

He chuckled. "I just… it feels like I blinked and you turned into an adult." She didn't know how to respond to that. "Anyways, you're a grown woman, I might as well tell you. And I can trust you not to tell anyone." Malina perked up at that, wondering what kind of secret business her father had been on. "About two miles back are a couple of naked and hog-tied templars who will probably wake up from the sleep spell I cast on them in, oh, three or four hours." He smiled. "Just enough time for the apostate they had caught to get away."

She stared at him. "Really?"

"Really," he replied. Malcolm took his staff from his back, looking at it. "It's not too smart, I guess. I've never been able to resist small rebellions, though. When I was assigned my first position as a healer the Circle told me not to so much as _glance_ at the noble family's daughter. I suspect fleeing the country and having several children with her would have fallen under the same heading, had they realized what was in my future."  
"Probably," Malina agreed. "Good thing you two didn't go in that order, huh!"

He paused. "You figured that out?"

She made a dismissive sound. "I'm not _stupid_ , father. I've seen your marriage contract, and I know my own _birthday_."

"Babies born early can go on to be perfectly—"

"Three months, father?"

"Well, all right," he admitted. "Upset?"

She rolled her eyes. "I figured it out years ago. I thought it was funny how you two tried to hide it. Really, the way you forged the paper to say you were married a year sooner was just masterful. You couldn't even try and use the same color ink?"

"No one can get ink that color but chantries," he said. "I think it's made from the tears of mages."

"Well you should have been able to brew up your own, in that case." She laughed at the face he made. "And all this is a fine and handy distraction from the… what was it, hog-tied and _naked_ templars? Really, now?"

"I hate the thought of anyone getting dragged to the Circle. They passed by while I was in the fields. I went looking for them after dark." His face clouded over. "They were… not kind. I saw them hit the woman, but it turned out that was the least of things."

Malina walked beside him in silence, considering that. "Did they see you?" she asked.

"Oh yes, I introduced myself, gave them our address, and then started casting spells. I told them what you and your sister look like, too. Things have been too _quiet_ lately!" He laughed. "Come on, now. I cast the spell from the woods. They were unconscious before I got within twenty feet of them."

While she hadn't thought he would have intentionally revealed himself, the whole thing seemed too dangerous.

Malcolm looked over at her and shrugged. "I know what you're thinking. And it probably was stupid. But… I saw that woman… no, _girl_ , and thought of how easily it could be you or Bethany. She was younger than your sister. She had been hidden, someone loved her enough to protect her, and it didn't matter in the end. I'd like to think that maybe, if either of you are ever in need, someone like me might come along and help."  
Although she was still nervous, horrible images of templars descending on their home or finding her father run through playing across her imagination, Malina couldn't really argue. "Father?" she asked eventually.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Why naked?"

"Would _you_ admit to waking up naked and hogtied in a field?" After a moment he snickered. "Plus, it's far more amusing. They deserve a bit of humiliation."

Visualizing it for a moment, she began to laugh with him. Still chuckling, they slipped into the house.

The next afternoon she found him in the fields, checking on the tomatoes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Don't see why not," he said before passing a bushel to her. "Do these look smaller than last year?"

"No," she said. He only grunted, wiping his brow. "So, I was curious," she began slowly. Sensing she was serious, he stood up, watching his daughter. "Why…. Why did you leave them alive?"

Malcolm looked at her and shook his head. "I'm not the best man in the world, but I'm no _killer_."

"Yes, but they'll only go back to work. And what if they did see you?"

Her father stood up straight. "The Chantry says mages don't care about lives beyond their own, and apostates are brutal murderers and a danger to society. Why would I prove them right?" She opened her mouth and he cut her off, putting his fingers to her lips. "Sweetheart, I've saved hundreds, maybe thousands, of lives with magic. I've brought children into this world and eased the pain of old people leaving it. I want a world where people see the _good_ mages can do, I won't use my own powers to demonstrate the darker side." He smiled slightly. "Besides, I'm hoping the whole thing will just end up blamed on bandits. Leaving them burnt to a crisp would eliminate that possibility."

"Bandits?" She raised an eyebrow. "You think people will assume two bound and _naked_ Templars were set on by _bandits_?"

Malcolm laughed. "Well, I did douse their robes in whiskey. Don't worry, I used the cheap stuff." She waited for him to go on. "Oh, and before I left I robbed them utterly blind. You'd be surprised by how much coin those bastards carry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Apostates of Amaranthine chapter either late today or early tomorrow (really!). Got a good chunk of the next Stone and Sky done, too. This is just being unusually demanding as of late.  
> Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed and added this to their alerts and fave lists!


	3. A perfect longterm solution

**7 Harvestmere 9:27 Dragon  
Lothering, Southern Bannorn, Ferelden**

"All right," Malina stared at a small ledger, inkwell at her elbow. "If the weather holds, and you charge at least as much as last year… we'll have enough to make it through winter and pay all the taxes."

"Let me see that," her father said, spinning the page around. "Huh. I'll be damned. No idea we had such a good spring."

"Drought in South Reach," she said. "No competition."

Malcolm considered that. "And if we lower prices?" he asked. "If there's drought… people are probably desperate."

"We starve," she said flatly.

"Malina—"

"Fine," she said. "Five percent… we… oh, fun. Five percent and we can't pay all the taxes. Ten percent and you'd better hope bandit attacks go up this winter since we'll starve unless someone with coin needs healing."

"That bad?" he asked.

"That bad," she nodded. "I don't know what this is, though." Malina pointed to a line in the ledger, occupied only by the letter B and a shockingly large number.

"Oh, that," her father said. "Well, bribes of course."

"Oh, of course," she said flippantly. " _Bribes?_ "

He raised an eyebrow. "How long have we lived here? And never been caught?" Malcolm shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I like having a home more than I like gold," he said. "A bit of coin to a few templars keeps the lot of them at bay. Whenever someone mentions us one of my, um… _friends_ speaks up about how he's already investigated the situation thoroughly."

"Bribes to the Chantry!" she laughed. "Oh, that is my favorite part of services. 'Blessed art thou who exist in the site of the maker, blessed is thy coin, with which Ser Robert can hire a whore.' Always makes me feel so _proud_ to be an Andrastian." She sighed. "Really, can we convert to the Tevinter chantry? _Please_."

"How did you know it was Ser Robert?"

She smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching up. "Since I can't believe any templar is so inept that he would _proposition_ the neighborhood apostate and not notice." She sighed. "Sit _down_ , father. It isn't like I _accepted_."

"Still, he knows you're my daughter!"

"Can't even get loyalty from the people you buy these days. The whole country's gone to the Void." Malina quirked an eyebrow up and laughed. When her father only glared she dropped her smile and returned her attention to the ledger once more. "That's more than the taxes on the farm," she said slowly. "Maybe we _should_ move on."

"No!" Malcolm said. "Absolutely not. This is our _home_. We've lived here for seven years! We've built a life here, I won't abandon it." He put his palms against the table. "I'm through running away."

"All right," she said, hands up. "Fine. I was only making a suggestion. Let's just all cross our fingers and hope they don't start asking for more. I'm sure if we hope _really_ hard it'll work!"

"Why do I have you help me with this again?"

"Because Mother's too busy and you can barely count past ten without taking your boots off?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, I spent my entire life learning how to master arcane power, knit living flesh back together, and control the forces of nature. I didn't have time for _algebra._ What, you think the Circle teaches math? _"_

"Actually, I do," she said.

"Well… you'd be right. And shut up. I'm the father here!"

Eyes meeting across the table, both broke out into laughter. "I swear," her mother called from the kitchen, "only the two of you would find bookkeeping so _amusing_."

"I, personally, find hopeless situations _hilarious_ ," Malina said.

Her father smirked. "Nothing sets me off like a whole row of negative numbers. All those minuses look like a little ladder to failure!"

Leandra came out of the kitchen, worry on her face. "Are things that bad?"

"Nah," Malina said. "Just making a joke. We're actually doing good. Better than last year. You know, providing the bribe totals don't go up."

"Bribes?" She looked from her daughter to her husband. "What's this about bribes?"

"Oh, shit," Malina stood up. "I, um… need to go talk to Bethany about… magic."

"Language!" her father shouted. He was quickly shouted down by her mother, though.

"No changing the subject! Who in the Maker's name are you bribing, and why!"

Slamming her bedroom door she burst into giggles. "What happened?" Bethany asked, setting the book she had been reading aside.

"Oh, remember how we were wondering just why the templars never caught us?"

"I remember," Bethany said, narrowing her eyes. " _Why_?"

Malina flopped down next to her. "Apparently our _father_ has been _paying them off!"_

Bethany looked up. "I don't see this ending well," she said after a moment's consideration.

"Really? I thought it was a spectacular plan." She smiled. "A perfect long term solution."

Bethany rolled her eyes. "How bad?" Malina didn't respond and she made a face at her older sister. " _That_ bad, then? Well, lovely."

That night, once everyone had gone to bed, Malina quietly slid open the window. "Have fun," Bethany called from her own bed.

"Come with me! I'm meeting people for cards."

"No thanks," her sister replied, rolling over and snuggling deeper into her blankets. "I'd rather sleep than listen to idiots tell me how pretty my eyes are."

Malina laughed, swinging her legs over the sill. "Your loss."

Walking into the local tavern, she looked around, spotting her friends in the corner. Carver rolled his eyes as she sat down. "Does mother know you're here?" he asked.

"Does she know _you're_ here?"

"I'm not a…" she stared at him, eyebrows raised. "…girl," he finished lamely, realizing how close he came to informing half the tavern that his sister was an illegal mage.

"Carver!" one of the others said, smacking him across the back of the head.

Picking up her cards, Malina sighed. "There's nothing quite like the love of a younger brother," she said. "And I should thank the Maker for that."

The girl who had hit Carver shook her head. "For as much as the two of you complain, you're much closer than me and my brother."

"Your brother is _nine_ , Peaches" Malina pointed out.

"Still," she said. "You two have all the same friends, you're always together. I don't think you hate each other nearly as much as you pretend."

"I don't?" Carver said. "Well, that's a shock."

"To you as well as me, brother dear," Malina said drily. She pushed his glass towards him. "Now drink your poisio— ale. Drink your ale."

She laughed as he eyed the glass warily.

The night went on, and Carver eventually disappeared with Peaches. Malina was about to head home when one of the other stragglers elbowed her. "Isn't that your father?"

" _Here_?" she was doubtful, but stood up to get a better look from their table on the second story. Glancing past the railing she saw it was, in fact, her father. "What's he up to?"

"Like I know?" she shrugged. "He hurt his knee again? Got his walking stick with him."

"Oh, Maker," Malina groaned. She could see, on the floor near his feet, his 'walking stick.' There was no doubt she was the only other apostate in the room. Anyone else would notice a staff so powerful it all but glowed. "He… must have."

"Shame," she said. "Anyways, I'm heading home. Want to walk with me?"

Malina glanced from her friend to her father. "No, I'll finish my drink. Stick around and make sure he doesn't need help making it home. You know, the bad knee…"

Wishing her goodnight, the final member of their card game headed home, leaving Malina alone.

She sat quietly, sipping her ale. Her father seemed to have no idea she was there, he kept glancing towards the door. Finally, a middle aged man entered and froze. Some unspoken signal passed between the two of them, and he sat down with her father. She could see how nervous he was from her position above them. A potential patient, most likely. Or the relative of one. It was a scene she had watched play out more times than she could count over the years. Before she had shown signs of magic he would occasionally let her tag along, believing seeing him as a family man would make people in need less nervous about speaking to an apostate.

Realizing that, she wasn't surprised when he pushed several coins across the table to her father. Of course, they were refused, since that's what he _did_ , and the man seemed to insist again. Eventually Malina could see her father hold his hands up, as if in defeat, and pocket the gold. Moments later they both left.

She resisted the urge to chuckle, seeing her father clutching his 'walking stick' and adopting an exaggerated limp.

After a moment's deliberation, curiosity got the better of her. Pounding back the last of her drink and tossing a few coins on the table for the waitress, Malina slipped out of the tavern, following the now-distant figures. She could hear her father in the distance. _"She said most of the pain was on one side?"_ he asked. After a muttered response from the stranger he followed it with more questions.

Tracking them to a small freehold outside town, Malina waited outside. She could feel magic flare inside the house. After several more spells were cast she began to get bored. Healing magic, one spell after another. Nothing unusual or exciting. Deciding to avoid the inevitable questions about why she was out at this hour, Malina headed home before he left the house.

Walking on the ground, in the shadow of the elevated Imperial highway, she had to chuckle. One of her friends had been teaching her how to sneak around, the lessons had apparently been going better than she expected.

Hopping back to the roadway to cross over the Drakon River, she cast a quick glance back. " _Shit_."

The word came out without warning, and she regretted it immediately.

In the distance she could see the horse gain speed. "Who's out there?" called the armored rider. The moon was just full enough to reveal the etched emblem on his breastplate: a sword of Mercy. "Have no fear," he called. "I'm on the Maker's business."

Without time to think, she spun and took off running towards home.

 _Bethany!_

Realizing the idiocy of hoping to find safety at home, Malina stopped and took a breath. Sucking in as much air as her lungs would hold, she turned, stepped back, and jumped.

The water was freezing.

"Hey, girl! Are you all right?" She could hear the templar shouting from the highway above. He had raced over to where she jumped and dismounted. "Girl?" Holding her breath, she swam under the surface of the road, hoping to remain hidden. If she was lucky the distance from bridge to river, combined with the heavy stone above, would keep him from sensing a mage nearby. "Maker's breath, fool girl. I can't go after her in armor!" He was speaking to himself now. "Poor lass, probably thought I was some bandit! Hope she can swim…"

Letting her breath out slowly, Malina tread water. He hadn't known. She could hear the man mount his horse once more, hooves clicking against the stone. Shaking from the cold as much as her own fear, she kicked her legs against the current and waited for him to continue on his way.

He seemed to have no intention of moving on, and as the minutes passed her legs grew more tired from fighting the current. Even shielded by one of the massive stone supports for the roadway she could feel the water trying to send her downriver towards the Amaranthine Ocean. Heavy, wet clothing joined to pull her down. She had no choice, staying in the water any longer would be her own death. Judging the distances, Malina began to swim back towards the shore, away from home. It was just slightly closer.

She had swam the width of the river before, of course. Every teenager in Lothering had. Swimming it in the dark, fully dressed, with boots on her feet, was a new challenge, though. Attempting to do it silently so as not to attract the templar's attention added another exciting new facet to the endeavor. One she could just as happily have done without.

After far, far too long she reached the shore, barely managing to drag herself onto the bank. Too tired to go on, Malna pulled herself under the ramped surface of the road, stretching out on the sand to catch her breath and wait for the soreness in her legs to ease.

Waking with a start, she gasped and sat up. The shouting that woke her stopped almost as soon as she was aware enough to understand. Malina could hear a horse making noises of protest, followed by the sound of hooves. Counting in her head, she waited what seemed like a safe amount of time before peeking over the edge of the road.

It was still dark. Malina had no idea how long she had slept, but her clothes were now merely damp. She warily crossed the bridge, eyes peering ahead into the darkness for any sign of the templar. He was gone, though, having apparently decided the girl who jumped to avoid him was either dead or not worth the trouble.

Nearing the midway point of the bridge she heard a groan.

Suddenly Malina remembered _why_ she had been so far from home, forgotten in the horror of almost being intercepted by a templar. She began to run.

With a strangled cry she skid to a halt, dropping to the ground next to a prone figure.

Her father blinked up at her in surprise. "Sweetheart?"

"D—Daddy?"

"You're out too late," he said, before coughing. Blood splattered across her face and there was a horrifying _wet_ quality to his voice.

She shushed him, holding up her hands. As she readied her spell he reached up with a surprising ferocity. " _Don't you dare_ ," Malcolm hissed. "Do you want him to come back for you, too?"

"I'm not letting you die!"

"You're not the Maker himself!" His words were cut off by a sound of pain, his eyes clenching shut briefly. Finally her father managed to whisper "this is beyond what either of us could fix." She glanced down at his stomach, closing her eyes and shuddering. He was right.

Malina began to cry, still clinging to his hand. Malcolm shushed her, eyes intent.

"Shh, sweetheart. You have to listen to me." His voice was becoming more strained. Eventually she was able to quiet herself, realizing how important this was to him. "You need to take care of your brother and sister," he said. "And look after your mother." He coughed again. Malina agreed easily. He looked relieved and, after another of those horrible sounds of pain, was gone.

Malina sat in shock, refusing to believe what had happened. No _I'm proud of you_ , no _I love you_ , not even _tell your mother I love her_? Wiping her face, she decided that must have been one of those things people only had time to say in books.

Eventually she forced herself to look down. It wasn't her father. Her father smiled, he laughed. He messed up her hair when she walked by and flung dirt at her when they were working in the fields. He smelled like the soil and magic and sun. The shell next to her stared blankly into the night sky, mouth hanging open. It smelled like copper and waste.

Shaking, Malina stood and began walking down the center of the road, away from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... but it had to happen. Well, not like that. But yeah. Otherwise it would be a very short story when he killed Anders in a fit of dad!rage.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who gave kudos, and all the people who then started reading my other fics. You sure know how to make a gal feel loved!


	4. I hope he has nice eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And life continues...

**22 Harvestmere 9:27 Dragon  
Lothering, Southern Bannorn, Ferelden**

Acting without thought, Malina retraced her footsteps. When she reached the freehold she froze, staring at the front door. After a moment spent gathering her nerves, she began to pound.

No one answered.

Filling with rage, she held her hands out, summoning energy from the fade. Lips moving silently, Malina pulled her hands back and then thrust both arms forward, energy crackling in the silence of the early morning. The door flew open, hanging at a crazed angle.

A terrified looking man stood clutching a fireplace poker; it was the same man she had seen her father with at Dane's Refuge. Malina waved her arm, knocking him to the ground with another burst of magical energy, and walked over. Kicking the poker from his hand she glared down. "You set him up," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"What?" he said.

"You. Set. Him. Up," she repeated, teeth clenched. "You set _my father_ up."

To her annoyance, he began to cry. "I had no choice," the man sputtered. "My wife was sick. They told me they'd find me a healer, I just had to let them bring him back to the Circle after."

She laughed bitterly. " _Bring him back to the Circle_?" Malina said, disgusted. "He's _dead_."

"But the templar told me—"

"My father hasn't been in the Circle since before I was born," she snapped. "They _killed him_. That's what they _do_ to people like us!"

The man continued to cry. "Are you going to kill me?" he finally asked.

She thought about that, even going so far as to summon lightning at her hands. "No," Malina said finally. "Only because _he_ wouldn't want me to." Shaking her hands, she put a hand on her hip. "He _helped you._ He did it to be _kind_. And you decided thank him by getting him killed. I want you to remember that. I hope the templar gold feels good in your pocket, asshole." Spitting on him, she turned and left.

It was after dawn when Malina got home. Her father's body was gone from the road where he had died, to her confusion. His bloodstain remained, though. She gave it a wide berth , trying to force herself not to cry as she passed.

The door flew open when she turned the knob, and her mother rushed forward. Through her tears Malina could make out the words ' _father,' 'found,'_ and ' _bandits.'_ Carver was sitting in the front room, face ashen as he stared blankly forward. Bethany was sobbing into his shoulder. He had an arm around his twin, halfheartedly patting her shoulder.

She thought about telling them the truth. Bethany would become more nervous, and start talking about how maybe the circle wouldn't be 'so bad' with even greater frequency. Carver would find a way to blame her. Her mother would be destroyed, and probably insist they move. He wouldn't have wanted any of that to happen.

Maybe it would be better this way.

Finally allowing herself to cry, Malina fell into her mother's arms.

Days later, standing with her family at the pyre, she was surprised and proud by how many of the locals had come out to see her father off. Malina sagged with exhaustion, leaning subtly against Carver. Bethany stood on his other side. To anyone who didn't know them he would look like the supportive brother. And he was, in a way. It's just that at this point his support was in the form of keeping them both from falling over. The diluted magebane they had drunk that morning to suppress any trace of magic they might give off was taking its toll. Without it neither would have been able to stand as close to the templars as they had to for the ceremony, though. Malina couldn't help noticing Ser Robert glancing at both of them in confusion. He must have wondered why they didn't seem to be mages any longer.

A steady stream of neighbors poured into their house for the rest of the day. Offering kind, meaningless words and slightly more useful gifts of food, she got the distinct impression they were mostly pleased it wasn't someone from their own family.

 _It will be soon enough_ , she realized. With no village healer, well, the next person in need of healing would simply die. She could always step into her father's role but… they had been fortunate enough not to get caught as it was. She wasn't sure the family could hide from the Chantry forever, and that would be a sure way to draw attention to both her and Bethany.

When everyone had finally left, Malina dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. "Here," her mother said, sliding a small bottle across the table. Uncorking it, her eyes widened. "To counter the magebane. Carver already brought Bethany one."

"Thanks," Malina said, downing the lyrium potion and feeling refreshed within seconds. "Maker… what will we do now?"

Her mother shrugged. "We'll live our lives," she said. "He wouldn't want us to just curl up and die." She put her face in her hands, elbows on the table. "As tempting as that is right now."

Malina got up, moving over to sit next to Leandra. Putting an arm around her shoulder she fought for something to say. "Mother, why don't you get some rest?" was what came out after she decided there was nothing she _could_ say to make this better or easier.

"No," Leandra said, sitting up again. "I… I can't try and sleep in that bed. Not without him. Not yet." She bit her lip, staring forward. "All I could think last night was how it _smelled_ like him and how the next time I change the sheets even that will be gone."

"I suppose you can just… not change your sheets?" Malina said.

She looked over at Malina, a sad smile on her face. "At least I won't have to worry about missing your father's bad jokes," Leandra told her daughter. Leaning over, she kissed her on the forehead. "Go to bed, sweetheart. I think I'd like to be alone for a bit."

Malina nodded, embracing her mother before leaving the room.

The next day was no less chaotic. With her father gone the work of keeping the farm running fell to her; crop and animals didn't understand the concept of mourning. Carver and Bethany helped, of course, but they hadn't spent as much time in the fields as she had. She fell into bed too exhausted to even think about sneaking off for a card game at Dane's Refuge that night, and every night thereafter.

 **22 Drakonis 9:28 Dragon  
Lothering, Southern Bannorn, Ferelden**

He had been dead for almost six months when there was a knock on the door before dinner. Carver glanced out the window and hissed under his breath. " _Templar!"_ Without a word, Malina and Bethany retreated to the kitchen, ready to dive into the cellar at a moment's notice.

"Ser Robert," she could hear her mother say from the next room. "This is unexpected."

The two spoke, her mother played dumb while Ser Robert danced around his point. It eventually became clear why he was there, though. With Malcolm gone the bribes had stopped. He wanted money.

"Screw this," Malina muttered, walking into the front room. He stood up straighter as she entered.

"My lady," Robert said, voice dripping with slime, "I must say, you look particularly lovely."

"I'm covered in dirt and smell like the henhouse," she replied. "You've got a strange definition of lovely, Ser Robert."

"Perhaps," he said. "Were you…aware of the _arrangement_ your father and I made?" He turned to her directly, shutting Leandra out of the conversation. Malina could see her mother narrow her eyes. "It's no secret your family's… _welfare_ fell to you with his untimely death."

She pushed an urge to fry him alive down, but perhaps not quick enough. The templar's eyes widened and he took a step back. "I was," she replied through clenched teeth. "It died with him."

He sneered at her. "Think carefully on that, _mage_. What will happen the next time someone speaks up?"

Malina folded her arms, smirking. "Why, you've _already_ investigated the situation so many times, and so very thoroughly… I'd imagine you would want to continue to reassure your superiors that there's nothing at all unusual about the Hawke family. That is… unless you _want_ someone to wonder why you simply never noticed anything wrong, and look into how something like this could have slipped past one of the Chantry's _proud_ holy warriors for so many years." Malina grinned watching him squirm.

Ser Robert finally sputtered, face red with anger. "This isn't the last of it," the templar said, glaring at her.

"Oh, I think it is," she replied. "You have a lovely night. Maker bless!" With that she closed the door.

"I can't _believe_ you did that!" Bethany said, walking out of the kitchen.

"Neither can I," Carver agreed. "You might have actually outsmarted him!"

"I have my moments," she said.

"Shame they're so rare," he replied.

 **28 Justinian 9:30 Dragon  
Lothering, Southern Bannorn, Ferelden**

To her amazement, Malina managed to keep the farm running for almost three more years without incident.

Well, without _external_ incident.

"The _son_ inherits!" Carver was fond of reminding her. While it made sense for the day to day running of the farm to fall on her in the first years after Malcolm's death, the twins had been only fifteen at the time, now that Carver had reached his eighteenth summer he seemed dead-set on reminding everyone who the man of the family was.

"There's no law that says property goes to the male heir," she replied calmly, not stopping her work shucking peas at the kitchen table. "Technically, the farm still belongs to our _mother_ , you know."

"Don't give me that," he replied. "I'm a grown man, I won't live under my sister's rule forever."

She looked up. "Under my _rule_? Was that you up at dawn with me to tend the chickens? Wait, no, that was _Bethany_. That must have been you who got up in the middle of the night to deliver the calves. Wait, no, that was mother and I. Did… did I order you to spend all your time making eyes at Peaches and fooling around behind her father's barn? I can't see _how_ that would benefit us…. Unless…." She paused thoughtfully. "Oh, right, I really wanted to be an aunt!"

"Hey!" he snapped, "what I do with my time is—"

"Painfully stupid," she cut him off. "You're eighteen, you're too young to be a father, and you couldn't support a wife and child anyways."

"No, I couldn't," he snapped, "since my sister got the farm!"

Malina narrowed her eyes. "Oh, that's it, then? You want to put me, Bethany, and mother out so you can play house with Peaches?"

"What?" he looked shocked. "No, I didn't mean— I'd never say that! I just… I don't know what _I'm_ supposed to do with myself. I don't have _anything._ "

"Neither do we!" she said. "All we have is this house and the land it sits on. What, you think I've got a bag of gold under my bed?"

"I know that," he said, calming. "Look, just… don't you think pop would want the farm to go to someone who would pass it on, keep it in the family?"

Malina's hands froze in the bowl, green shells falling from her fingers.

Carver was on his feet a moment later, moving to her side. "Malina, I'm sorry," he said quickly, hand on her shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that. Really."

"Oh, no," she said. "Of course not. I'm sure that was the brilliant lead up to telling me about a new friend who has a secret love of illegal mages. Does he have nice eyes? I hope he has nice eyes." Carver didn't seem to know how to respond. He looked at her, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "No? Oh well… worth a shot."

"Sorry," he said.

"Yeah, me too," she replied.

"I have to think about my future," he finally said after a long silence.

"I wish I could help you," she said with a sigh.

One evening, when leaving Dane's Refuge after one of the rare occasions she snuck away to see her friends, Malina saw several men in armor enter.

"Ser?" she called to one before going out into the warm summer evening. "Is something wrong?"

"War," he replied, regret in his voice. "We're looking for volunteers to join the king's army."

"Orlais?" she asked in horror.

The man shook his head, a brief look of horror slipping past his brave facade. "The one thing that's worse," he said grimly. "Darkspawn."

She stared at him blankly for a moment. "You're kidding me. Darkspawn? Didn't the Grey Wardens finish them off years ago?"

"I've seen them myself," he said. "Wouldn't have believed it myself otherwise."

Malina sucked in a breath. She may have been a farmer's daughter from the hinterlands, but her parents both possessed some of the finest educations the Free Marches had to offer. She knew her history. "Is..is it..." Taking another breath, she forced herself to say the word. Not speaking it would have no bearing on if it was the truth. "Is it a Blight?"

"Maker help us, I just don't know," the man said. His blue eyes were filled with a fear that told Malina what he thought about it, though.

Thanking him for his time, she ran home to tell her family.

"A Blight," her mother shuddered at the word. "What if it's true?"

"We've gotten pretty good at running and hiding over the years." Malina smiled, hiding her fear. "Standard templar procedure should work. But, you know, multiplied by about a thousand. Templars don't generally travel in _hordes_ , after all."

"Where?" Bethany asked.

"Tevinter?" her sister suggested.

"You would say that," Carver said, finally breaking the silence he'd maintained most of the night. "I've got enough trouble being second class in my family. I don't want to make it a _legal_ reality, too."

"Poor Carver, never having to fear for his life. What a nightmare it must be."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, since harboring an apostate is perfectly fine. Right. I forgot the Chantry changed that bit."

"Enough!" Malina finally said. "Right now picking where to go is the least of our worries."

"Maybe we'll think of something by morning," Bethany suggested.

"Maybe," Malina agreed.

When she got up it was without any nighttime epiphanies. Not knowing what else to do, she went into the fields like any other day. Her mother's scream brought her running back into the house.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Carver!" she said, thrusting a paper at Malina.

"Oh Maker," Malina said, reading the note.

Bethany thundered up the back stairs a moment later. "What's wrong?" she called.

"Carver joined the bloody army!" Malina thrust the paper at Bethany.

"He did _what_?" she said, horrified. "But… he never even told me!" She covered her face for a moment. "Now what should we do?"

"Wait for him," Malina said.

Bethany nodded. "Well, I'd better check on the hens. I'm sure they miss me."

Leandra wrung her hands together, standing in the doorway watching as her daughters returned to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New AOA this weekend, probably. It requires a bit too much concentration to write on my lunch break. I wrote a one-shot of Malina and Anders, set later in the timeline. Figured I'd start a collection since I'm sure there will be more. It's called Falling, you can find it on my profile. Like the AOA oneshots I tried to step further back from the main character and show things from the other POV. Just, this time I didn't write Malina's side of things first.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone for reading, leaving kudos and reviewing!


	5. The Void in a Handbasket

Nothing else to do, they waited. Ostagar was what the gossip told them. Looking south, Malina shuddered at the thought of her brother lost among thousands on the edge of the wilds. Her mind swarmed with stories of the Chasind barbarians, the crumbling fortress, and the darkspawn.

 _Especially_ the Darkspawn.

But fear for her brother's safety wasn't the only thing Malina felt.

"This will sound crazy," she confided to Bethany one night, whispering across the distance between their matching narrow beds, "but I'm kind of jealous."

"Why am I not surprised?" came the reply. The dog stirred between them. Since their father had died the old mabari had apparently decided Malina would be his new owner.

"Down, Ser Barks," Malina said. "Sleep."

"I will never understand why you named him that," Bethany said.

"How about… because I was _six_?" she said. "And why aren't you surprised?"

"You always did love a good adventure," she pointed out. "I think that's half the reason you hate being a mage. It keeps you away from all the excitement."

Malina made a face in the dark. "I don't hate being a mage."

"Everyone hates being a mage."

"I hate _hiding_ because I'm a mage," Malina countered.

"No real difference," Bethany replied. Malina didn't have a suitable argument.

News began to trickle in from the south. Not all of it made sense. From one neighbor Malina heard of a Grey Warden plot against the king. From another she was told the entire order of warriors had all been slaughtered by their ancient enemy during the battle. One even said the order, known for their singleminded dedication to fighting the darkspawn, actually worshiped the archdemons, of all things. Malina suspected that one was little more than a drunken bit of delusion.

Someone even claimed to have seen a pair of Wardens in the village: a tall man with fair hair and a red-headed dwarven woman. Malina had also spotted the pair, but nothing about either of them particularly screamed "legendary warrior" to her. He had looked shocked and broken, eyes puffy enough to indicate he had cried a great deal in the not too distant past. She kept looking up towards the sky, horror on her face, all while clutching a blanket around herself.

Only one thing was certain. The king was dead, and most of the army with him.

People began to flee Lothering. First a trickle, then, as word of the massive failures at Ostagar was confirmed, a deluge. Even the ever-present Templars eventually left, leaving the three alone in an empty village.

"Do you think…" Leandra spoke quietly one night over dinner, leaving the unspoken question hanging over the table.

 _"No_ ," Bethany said, voice firm. "No. I would…" she struggled for words. "I would just _know_."

"Then we wait," Malina said, her tone making it clear her mind was set.

If anything, Leandra looked relieved.

A week later they could smell smoke. A week after that they could see it in the distance. Eventually, despite this, their patience was rewarded.

"Carver!" Bethany screamed, seeing her twin cutting through the fields. He was bruised and bloody, but standing on his own two feet. When she embraced him Malina could hear his cry of pain.

Rushing over, she helped Bethany guide him into the house. Once the two were at his side, both of their arms holding him up, their brother seemed to sag. "It was awful…" he muttered, words slurred with exhaustion. Guiding him in the house and to his bed, Bethany only paused long enough to call for their mother. Both she and Malina began casting a torrent of healing spells, working until there wasn't so much as a papercut on their brother.

Able to sit up again now that his broken ribs were healed, Carver offered a weak smile. "Never been so happy to be the brother of mages," he said. Leandra rushed in a moment later, a tray of steaming food. That earned an even larger smile. "I was _dreaming_ of your cooking the whole time I was there," he said, digging in.

He slept that night, and the next day. Seeing how injured he was, and how exhausted, Malina marveled that he had made it all the way home at all. "Imagine if we hadn't been outside," Bethany said quietly. "He could have collapsed… we would have found him after…"

"He didn't, though," she pointed out. "Don't worry over what might have happened. We have enough to worry about as it is."

On the third day since her brother returned home, Malina went out to check on the animals, as she did every day. The smell of copper hit her before she could open the barn door. After a brief internal debate, she kicked the door open and jumped back, hoping anything inside would run past where she could attack it.

"Dear _Maker,_ " she shouted. Her plan had worked, but it wasn't a wolf that had gotten in overnight. It was now very clear Carver hadn't been the sole survivor of Ostagar: the Darkspawn had arrived.

Bethany and Malina were frantic. When no one could find the long-forgotten key, Malina blew the door off their father's closet with a spell, grabbing the two most powerful staves within, and every potion they could find. Carver put on what remained of his armor from Ostagar. He had taken off the sleeves somewhere in the walk home, but the leather doublet would be better than nothing. The girls attached sheets of chainmail to their clothes, sewing Malcolm's old leather pants into leggings small enough to fit them as quickly as they could.

"I'm ready," Leandra called, rushing down the stairs. She was wearing every piece of jewelry in the house.

"For _what_?" Malina asked. "A ball?" She had known her mother was born a noblewoman, but she had never been _frivolous._

"It's easier to wear it than carry," she said. "We can sell it once we get to safety. Use it to… start over." She looked ready to cry at those words.

Relaxing, Malina nodded. "Good plan," she said.

They emerged into an unfamiliar landscape. Flames were licking at the tower of the Chantry, acrid smoke hanging over everything. 'Which way?" Carver shouted over the sounds of darkspawn.

"North!" Malina said. "They're coming from the south, so we need to get North… quickly!"

Fighting through small bands of darkspawn, the family tried to make their way across what remained of Lothering. Malina couldn't help being grateful Malcolm had taught both her and Bethany how to fight with a staff, even though neither actually owned one. She never expected the skill to come in useful, and, as they wiped darkspawn blood from their skin, wished it never had.

"Keep your mouths closed," she warned. "You don't want any of the blood splashing in there." Bethany had been grazed by an arrow, and Carver cut by one of the darkspawn blades. Malina healed her brother, telling Bethany to do the same for herself. "We need to keep ourselves healed." Stopping to check the family dog, she sighed, hoping he could tolerate swallowing a bit of blood. "Blood in a wound could be just as bad."

Leandra glanced back when they managed to stop for a moment, catching their breath. "Gone," she sighed. "Everything your father and I built…"

"Well, at least we're alive?" Malina offered. "That's something, right?" She wasn't quite sure what else to say.

Bethany must have been able to tell how uncomfortable she was. "We need to keep running," she said.

"Don't look at me," Carver snapped. "I've been running for more than a week, ever since Ostagar."

"Stumbling, you mean," Malina corrected. "And while I do love seeing people who aren't me argue, I don't think the darkspawn will wait for you two to finish." After a vocal agreement from their mother, Carver told her to lead on.

Glancing back at him, Malina suppressed the shock on her face. For once, he wasn't griping about her being in charge.

"Where are we going?" Bethany asked not long after another group had attacked them and been summarily dispatched.

"The void in a handbasket?" Malina supplied. Bethany rolled her eyes. "I thought we decided on North," she said with a sigh. "You know, away from the monsters that have been trying to kill us."

" _Then_ what?" she said. "We wander aimlessly for the rest of our lives?"

"Wander aimlessly away from the darkspawn? I can live with that." No one laughed. Malina couldn't pretend that surprised her. What _did_ surprise her was their mother's suggestion.

 _"Kirkwall?"_ she said, horrified. "Not… my first choice. Or second. Actually, it wasn't even on my list."

"There's a _lot_ of templars in Kirkwall," Bethany said.

Their mother pressed her argument, pointing out they had family and an estate. Malina held her tongue, wondering just why the Amell family, who disowned their eldest child for running off with a mage, would suddenly greet the same woman with open arms. Especially when she arrived said mage's children, two of whom had the same powers as their father, at her back.

But, it was better than their other plans… mostly since they _had_ no other plans. Not realistic ones, at any rate.

"Fine," she said, shrugging. Having an actual goal made her feel better, though. Malina was almost optimistic as they turned the next corner. Only to have her mood crash down immediately. "Please tell me I've hit my head and this is the Fade," she muttered.

"The Maker has a sense of humor," Bethany said, eyeing the couple not far ahead of him. A woman tackled one of the darkspawn to the ground, pummeling it with bare fists before slicing the monster's head off. That done, she returned her attention to the injured man at her side.

The injured man in full templar armor.

"A _bad_ one," Malina concluded.

"You would be the expert on that," Carver said, clearly unconcerned. "One of him, three of us. Four if you count the dog."

"Did you miss the part where his friend _punched_ a Hurlock to death?" Malina asked. "I want to stay on _her_ good side, at any rate."

Before the argument could continue another band of darkspawn were on them. Without thinking, both Malina and Bethany began throwing off spells, concern for keeping the darkspawn back from their mother overriding worry about the templar.

"Apostates!" he said, glaring at them once the fight was over.

The woman manage to talk him down from attacking. Probably good for him, too, since _standing_ seemed to be taxing his abilities at the moment. Malina raised an eyebrow as he promised to leave his "duty" for another day. Even that had mostly been at the pressing of his wife, who helpfully pointed out that the two apostates saved their lives.

"Oh," she said, waving her hand. "So, we can help save you today, and as a prize we won't get a sword in the gut until tomorrow? Fan _tastic_. Perfectly acceptable."

Pressing her not to argue, Bethany seemed perfectly happy with the compromise. "Fine," Malina finally said. Raising a hand in his direction, she summoned a spell.

"Hey!" he said, hand on his sword.

"Calm _down,_ " she said with a roll of her eyes. "I promise we're allies and set you on fire ten seconds later? Give me some credit. I'd _at least_ wait until your back is turned." When he didn't calm she sighed. "It's a _healing spell_. You're injured."

He at least had the decency to look shamed. "Then… I thank you for your kindness."

Malina never could leave well enough alone. "Don't thank me. Another sword in the fight means we're all more likely to come through with our heads attached." She gave a dry laugh. "Until we reach safety and our truce ends, of course, and you forcibly remove both my sister's and mine." The only reply was Bethany groaning.

As the expanded group worked its way through Lothering her feeling of optimism began to return. The templar wasn't _terrible,_ although Carver was better. His wife, however, was awe-inspiring. She managed to keep the darkspawn clear of the mages _and_ Leandra, drawing their attention to herself, and cut through wave after wave barely breaking a sweat. On the rare occasions she looked overwhelmed out flashed her shield, pushing a handful of her tormenters to the ground, so she could kill them at her own convenience.

"Hey!" Bethany called out to her, jogging over between waves. Raising her hands, she quickly summoned blue waves of magic to a cut on the woman's arm. "You don't want to get any of the darkspawn blood in there."

"Thank you," she said, smiling kindly. "Ostarar would have been much easier with more healers."

"I think my unit lost as many to the disease as we did to their blades," Carver interjected.

She looked at him closely. "I remember you. You were under Captain Varel, weren't you?" Carver nodded. The woman, who Malina had learned was named Aveline, nodded. "It wasn't the darkspawn who defeated us in the end. It was _betrayal_. I never would have expected it of Loghain Mac Tir, but there you have it." Carver gave a grunt of agreement. "Where are you headed?" she asked.

"North," Malina supplied. "And from there… _Kirkwall_." She couldn't resist groaning as the word passed her lips.

"North is cut off," the templar interjected. "I just came from there."

"Wesley is right," his wife agreed.

"Well we can't go _south_ ," Carver said. "That's where the horde is coming from, we'd be running right into them!"

"The horde's already passed," Aveline said. "South is the only way."

Malina and Bethany exchanged a glance. "I don't know about you," Malina said, "but if the choices are _south_ or _death_ , I'll go with the one that isn't _death_."

Bethany made a face at all of them. "I don't know about _you_ , but every compass I've seen has more than _two_ directions on it. Why not, oh, I don't know… _east?_ It would probably be easier to get a ship to Kirkwall from Gwaren's ports than the middle of the wilds."

"She… has a point," the templar admitted with some hesitation.

"That's why we call her the smart one," Malina said with a grin at her sister.

"You do not," Bethany replied.

"Well, not to your _face_ we don't."

Feeling better, Malina looked up, checking the sun and adjusting their direction.

Around the next turn in the road everything seemed to halt, . Moving too slowly, Malina saw the ogre heading for her mother. Moving too slowly, she saw Bethany jump between them, praying aloud for strength.

And if Malina had anything resembling faith it would have been shattered when the ogre responded to her little sister's words to the Maker by grabbing her in one giant fist, slamming Bethany's thin body to the ground like it was little more than rags.

Leandra's scream cut through the air, drowning out the howls of the darkspawn.

Malina stared at her sister's body in horror, rooted to the ground. It wasn't until a stomp of the ogre's massive foot sent her flying, knocked down as the ground quaked below her, that she remembered the current danger wasn't over yet. Climbing back to her feet, she raised her staff, casting spells. A wave of energy cleared the darkspawn away from her. Another sent them into the air, slamming back against the ground.

Running to Carver's side, she raised a hand, already casting spells on him as she moved. His face was covered in blood, splashing with each swing of his blade, twin lines of dampness clearing the blood on each of his cheeks.

Moving easier now that she had taken care of his injuries, Carver gave a shout, drawing the darkspawn's attention away from his sister. Seeing her chance, Malina began throwing off bolts of lightning. Ducking, she barely missed the sword of a hurlock, feeling the breeze in her hair as it passed overhead. One hand reached out, freezing him. Before he could begin moving again she struck out with her staff, the sturdy wood shattering the corrupted beast.

As they came closer she had to rely on the staff more, whipping out with the bladed end, alternating slashes with spells. Swinging it in a wide arc, Malina desperately tried to buy herself enough time to cast a larger spell. "Carver!" she shouted.

"Little busy now, sis," he replied.

Before she could reply, becoming rapidly overwhelmed, there was a flash of red hair. Aveline was goading the darkspawn, clearing them away from Malina.

"Stay close," she shouted.

"Are you hurt?" came the reply.

"No," Malina said. "You'll see." Raising both hands, she focused. _Heat. Flame._ The templar, Wesley, shouted from not far away. _Ignore him. Focus._ Tongues of fire began to lick at her fingers, slowly engulfing her hands. Finally, Malina raised her arms, head thrown back as she roared the final words of the spell.

Only Carver and Leandra seemed unfazed by what happened next for as much as they even noticed. Both were so focused on the ongoing battle and their own grief that she could have set _herself_ on fire and not drawn a blink. While Malina had hoped to buy safety for her and Bethany by casting a nice non-threatening healing spell on the templar, the flames roaring around her engulfing darkspawn, seemed to negate that. Stumbling, the armored man looked at her in horror from across the field.

 _As though that matters now,_ she thought bitterly. _We probably won't make it from Lothering alive._

In a break between the seemingly-endless waves of darkspawn Malina stumbled over to Bethany's body. Numbly, she stared at her sister, unable to form words. Her mother was sobbing, issuing demands for her to wake up.

Struggling for words, Malina muttered something she hoped was comforting. It clearly wasn't. "And where were _you_?" her mother hissed. "How could you let her do that? Why didn't you protect her?"

"I…" Tears ran down her face as she struggled for a response. Carver glanced from his sister to his mother, avoiding letting his eyes pass over the body of his twin on the ground. Muttering something in a cracking voice about how she wouldn't want them to die arguing, he stalked away.

"Carver!" Malina shouted chasing after him. The templar, who would have been more than happy to turn Bethany over for Chantry justice, was praying over the body. She didn't want to hear it. If the Maker didn't answer Bethany's prayer moments earlier, what did it matter if he answered anything the templar said now?

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. "I'm… fine."

"I'm not," she replied. Managing to look put out even while covered in blood, Carver put an arm around her. Crying into his chest, Malina realized with shock that she couldn't remember hugging her brother since they were the same height. He was now more than half a foot taller.

Aveline's cry of warning that the darkspawn were getting closer parted them. Carver turned quickly, trying to hide the hand that went up to wipe his eye.

"There's too many," he shouted as they fought on. Malina, downing another potion, was too exhausted to reply. Her voice scratched and faltered on the words of a spell and she stumbled, catching herself with the staff. Managing to squeak out a rejuvenation spell, she was able to stand up straight, flinging off more magic.

Just as she had reconciled herself with dying, the darkspawn began to scatter. While that normally would have been a welcome thing, Malina didn't feel particularly reassured. Looking up, pushing back hair that was being blown around by the sudden wind, she couldn't help but wonder if death by dragon was any kind of improvement over death by darkspawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed. I still need to reply to quite a few, but work has been kicking my butt this week. Would you believe most of this chapter was written on my iphone on the subway during my commute? Can't wait to get my iPad, it will make subway-writing so much easier!_ _I know I said AOA last weekend but... my brain is almost too fried to tie all THOSE threads together. (I will, though, really...) This is much, much easier to write... and I'm kind of on fire to get them to Kirkwall and bring Anders into the story_


	6. My least favorite variety of creepy

_"It gets no easier."_

Malina awoke with a start. The ship was moving around her, the Waking Sea lapping at the sides of the hull somewhere far overhead. She could hear someone vomiting, but it was too dark to see where. The temptation to find them, help them, became overwhelming for a moment. Her hands actually _itched_ , she wanted to so badly.

 _I'm turning into my father,_ she thought, actually allowing herself a small smile at the idea. There were, after all, far worse things to happen. Something about knowing everyone on the ship was, in some way, like them made her think of them as allies of a sort. The entire hold was packed, end to end, with refugees fleeing the blight. Ferelden faces, Ferelden voices, even Ferelden dogs here and there. It was, she suspected, one of the last times she would experience such a thing. The thought made her particularly homesick.

Of course, she couldn't help them. Not with so many people around. As much as Malina might have enjoyed imagining they were all in this nightmare together, she knew being a fellow Fereldan, and a fellow refugee who lost everything to the blight, was no guarantee they would overlook her being a mage as well. It had taken a good deal of careful maneuvering and her mother acting as a lookout just to heal Carver when he got sick from drinking the dirty water on the ship, and even that had only been allowed when his clothing started to hang off his shoulders from losing weight so quickly.

Aveline was curled up on her side, the templar shield she'd carried since Lothering clutched in her arms. Even in her sleep Malina could see the woman's shoulders tremble slightly with tears. It was difficult to hate Aveline's husband now that he was dead. Watching the templar's wife cry herself to sleep over his loss dulled whatever rage she might have felt for his profession. In the end, once it became clear the corruption of the darkspawn had taken him, she actually cast a spell so he wouldn't feel the pain of the knife. It seemed like the kindest thing to do.

The idea of offering to kill him for Aveline had actually crossed her mind. Watching a woman kill the man she loved, even as a mercy, was still haunting her. She couldn't imagine how much it must have been tormenting Aveline, and Malina wondered if perhaps she _should_ have done it instead, even if only to spare Aveline the memory of how it felt to kill him. It had just seemed like such a cruel thing to offer at the time, though. She had made a joke about setting him on fire only hours earlier, and kept commenting about how he would kill her or Bethany. Suggesting she be the one to end his life would probably have come across as gruesome. While her social skills weren't exactly impressive, even Malina knew that wouldn't have been appropriate.

Something was digging into her ribs and, after a moment, Malina realized they had all shifted in the night, and she was lying across Carver's legs. Moving gently so as not to wake him, she walked a couple paces away before sitting down again. Carver stirred in his sleep, head resting on their mother's shoulder. Their own family dog, who had been guarding them in their sleep, looked over. "Get some rest, boy," she whispered, rubbing his head. He licked her hand before settling down. "You're a good dog." Homesick or not, it had already been shown that not everyone on the ship could be trusted. Although they had been lucky, more than one person on the ship complained of waking to find treasured family heirlooms missing.

They had boarded almost two weeks ago at Gwaren. She didn't know if they were still in Ferelden waters or not, there were no portholes this far below deck. Just as well, if they were they would look out on nothing but fish. Something made her think the fish in the Free Marches wouldn't be substantially different from the ones swimming off the coast of Amaranthine. Leaning against a post, she tried to find a comfortable position and, when that failed, tried to find a position that wasn't actively _painful._

Nothing had made sense, not since that… _dragon_ appeared. It wasn't _really_ a dragon. At least, she didn't think it was. After landing, leaving the darkspawn either dead or fleeing, it had… changed. Changed into an old woman, of all things; an old woman in a surprisingly low cut and tight outfit. Malina couldn't begin to determine how someone was supposed to respond to that. Well, beyond asking if they could teach her how to do that. Apparently, judging by her actions, you responded by agreeing to whatever crazed bargain they demanded so long as it saved your ass from the fire. Or, to be more specific, the darkspawn.

 _"It gets no easier. Your struggles have only just begun."_

The last words of the dragon-woman, a self-confessed 'witch of the wilds,' had been haunting her. The Chantry said prophesy was a sin, but that implied even they believed it was real. Would a witch of the wilds have such a gift? Malina didn't want to underestimate anyone who could change into a high dragon at will. Something told her the woman's words were true.

She remembered nothing after hearing that. The world seemed to go hazy, and then the four of them woke outside the city of Gwaren, in a field at the side of the road.

From there it was only a matter of selling some of mother's rings and buying passage on a boat. That had, of course, been the plan. Instead it became "selling almost everything since ticket prices had gone sky-high with everyone fleeing the blight." She had managed to keep her father's staff, and refused to let their mother sell her wedding ring, and their father's wedding ring, but most everything else was gone. Part of her wished she had taken the staff from Bethany's body, since it would have fetched a lot of coin, but the idea seemed so gruesome.

They hadn't even had time to burn her and scatter the ashes. While she didn't care for the Chantry's funeral services, Bethany had believed, _really_ believed. It seemed particularly cruel of the Maker, if he even existed, to force them into a situation where her body was simply left to rot.

Malina just had to hope this mysterious Uncle Gamlen would be in a generous mood when they arrived.

Docking in Kirkwall didn't make things any better. Their boat was hardly the first to arrive, after all. Anyone closer to a port than they had been had long since arrived. Refugees seemed to cover the ground, spread out across a large, imposing fortress, bunched together with friends and family who had left home with them.

"What in the bloody void is this place," Malina mused, looking up at the statue of an anguished figure hanging on a high wall.

"The sign back there said it was called 'The Gallows,'" Carver supplied. "You… won't like the rest."

She sighed. "I'm sure I won't. So tell me quickly."

He shrugged. "Your funeral. Perhaps literally. We, my sister, are experiencing the hospitality of the Kirkwall _Circle of Magi._ "

Malina turned to stare at him. Carver didn't look like he was having her on. Spinning, she glared at her mother. "True?"

"Well…"

" _Mother,"_ she hissed, "you grew up here. _Is it true_?"

Leandra sighed, not meeting her eyes. "It is. I… I didn't want to worry you, sweetheart. You've been under so much stress…"

Malina took a breath. Her father's voice echoed in her mind. _Magic comes out in times of stress and fear. Control your emotions_. Counting back from ten once, and then three more times for good measure, she straightened her back and glanced around. "We need to get away from here now. If we stay much longer someone will find me out."

"And so the running begins once more," Carver said drily. "Fantastic."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she cursed violently. "What the _fuck_ would you suggest then, Carver? Should I give myself up to spare you the trouble? Just open a vein and bleed out right here, so you can step over my corpse and stop worrying about templars and apostates and the Chantry? Please, I'd _love_ to know."

"Please, stop fighting," Leandra pled. "I've listened to you two bicker for eighteen years, isn't that enough? There is _nothing_ we can do; this is the lot the Maker has given us in life."

"The Maker's never given me anything but a headache," Malina said, moving forward towards the guards.

"Now _that,_ I can agree with," Carver said.

Leandra sighed. "I suppose it's my fault," Malina could hear her whisper to Aveline. "We never took them to Chantry… it was so dangerous for the girls…"

Malina glanced around. There were more refugees inside. She couldn't see any templars, but that didn't mean they weren't there: only that she couldn't _see_ them. She had to assume there were templars everywhere. This was, after all, where they _lived_. Trying to find someone who looked to be 'in charge' proved difficult, though. Eventually she spotted him; standing near a high stairwell, a man in armor projected an air of annoyed boredom.

Crossing the wide courtyard towards him, Malina froze halfway there. A woman had passed them by, completely oblivious to their presence. On her forehead stood out a shining brand of lyrium. "Maker…" she gasped, turning her face away.

"What?" Carver said. "What is it?"

"That woman," she muttered. "I think… well, she _looked_ like…"

"Would you spit it out?" he snapped.

"She was _a tranquil_."

He did a double take. "Really?" Carver said. "Wow… creepy."

"Yes," Malina said, "very creepy. In that 'dark vision of my own future if we don't get out of here soon' sort of way. I have to say, that's probably my _least_ favorite variety of creepy."

"Right," he said uncomfortably. "Well, if it makes you feel better, they'd probably just kill you. I think they save that thing for the mages who grew up here."

Malina stared at him in horror. "Actually," she admitted a moment later, "death would be preferable. So… thanks."

"Happy to help," Carver said, finally laughing. "Oh, would you calm down. They're not going to haul some harmless-looking Ferelden girl away in front of all these people. There'd be a riot! Keep your hands down and you'll be fine."

"Oh yes," she said, rolling her eyes, "I'm sure the templars wouldn't want to offend the delicate sensibilities of Ferelden blight refugees. Why, the way we've been treated, it's _clear_ Kirkwall considers us honored guests. They even call us 'lord,' after all. I'm sure adding 'dog' to the front of it is only… a term of endearment." Sighing, she walked over to the guard and began to plead their case. The conversation on tranquil had already taken _far_ too long for comfort. A single mention of them was too much for comfort, really; although her father had told her about them she'd never actually _seen_ one until now.

Actually getting _into_ the city proved far more difficult than expected, even with the benefit of having family already living there. Malina all but begged, and the guard captain simply refused, saying only that he would pass their message along if someone happened to see Gamlen Amell. Even that, apparently, was more than most people got. A group of heavily armed men overheard and began shouting. A fight broke out and, before Malina realized it, she had jumped into the fray.

"Shit," she muttered, looking down at one of the charred corpses. "Shitshitshit." While part of Malina was horrified at how little she cared that she had just killed a man- _several_ men, in fact- the larger part was more terrified of having cast spells in such a public place. Perhaps the worst public place she could have cast them, if given a choice.

With a shudder she expected to see a templar charging towards her at any moment. Amazingly, none appeared. "Tell you what," the captain said, picking himself up off the ground, "you keep it quiet that they got the better of me, and I'll find your uncle. And, um, if you can see your way to a bit of healing on my shoulder I'll probably be able to keep your, ah, _secret_ to myself."

"Really?" she looked at him in shock.

'Yeah," he said, darting his eyes around. "Let's say spending too much time in this place changes your view of things." He was looking past her, staring at one of the tranquil with a look of disgust on his face.

Malina cast the spell quickly, still glancing around. "The… the templars?" she whispered into his ear as she stood close, shielding the magic flowing from her hands to his shoulder with her body.

"Holed up inside," he said. "They're too good to mingle with the likes of you, believe me. They're too good to mingle with the likes of _me_ , and I'm Kirkwall born and bred." He sighed, rotating his shoulder with a look of relief. "You've saved me from a world of hurt for weeks, girl. Thanks."

"You find my uncle and get us out of here and I'll even cook you dinner!" she said, feeling slightly less nervous now that the absence of templars had been explained.

"You do that and I'd get some questions from the wife once I got home!" he laughed, before calling a guard over and sending him off to hunt down Gamlen Amell. Leaning close and whispering, the captain whispered _"Check the Blooming Rose_ _first_ ," to his man. Malina didn't know what that was, but she suspected it wasn't _good_ from the way he tried to hide it from them.

"What happened?" Leandra asked after Malina returned to their group.

"Made a deal," she said, explaining the captain's offer. "Seemed fair enough to me. More than fair, really."

"You got lucky," Carver said. "Just like always."

"Yes, of course," she said, waving her hand. "My _amazing_ luck. It's really fantastic, isn't it, how we're living in an enormous estate in Denerim, with no blight and no troubles to speak of." Rocking back on her heels she sighed in mock-satisfaction. "Life is good." When Carver grumbled she made a face at him. "Quit being suck a prick."

"Malina, language!" her mother snapped.

"Sorry," she said. "Anyways. They went to look for Uncle Gamlen. He is apparently most likely to be found somewhere called 'The Blooming Rose.'"

"Oh, Gamlen," Leandra said, shaking her head. "I see he hasn't changed."

"What's the Blooming Rose?" Carver asked.

"Nothing," Leandra said. "Nothing for either of you to worry about.

"An awfully scandalous 'nothing,'" Malina observed. "So… particularly filthy tavern, illegal lyrium den, or brothel. With a name like that I'm going to put my vote in the whorehouse column."

"Agreed," Carver said.

"Sounds about right to me," Aveline spoke up.

"Aren't we all clever," Leandra said. "Well… yes, it's a brothel."

"Ha! I was right!" Malina grinned. "Well, let's hope he's not too grumpy getting interrupted."

It wasn't until the next day that Gamlen arrived, looking nervous and harried. Malina had always known her mother's family was important in Kirkwall; it made the story of her running off to be with apostate mage Malcolm Hawke particularly dramatic. Seeing the first glimpse of the Kirkwall Amells didn't impress Malina, though. Her uncle was wearing clothing almost as ragged as their own, and they had fled Ferelden with nothing more than what they had on their backs. He smelled like stale beer and was in dire need of a good shave and a long bath.

" _This_ is the rich uncle we've been expecting?" Carver muttered under his breath. "Oh, we're so screwed."

Carver was right for once, Malina had to admit it. Watching Gamlen wring his hands and mutter about how he never expected Leandra to return to Kirkwall made her think something very bad was about to happen. With a sinking feeling he explained his grand plan to get them into the city.

It wasn't _so_ horrible, really. That is, if you considered involuntary indentured servitude acceptable.

Malina didn't.

"At least we get to pick who he sells us to," she muttered, walking to speak to the head of a smuggler company. They had just talked to a mercenary. He seemed… well, like a mercenary. The smuggler, to no one's surprise, seemed like a smuggler. They both were fully aware of Malina's magic. Evidently dear Uncle Gamlen was a bit of a gossip. She would need to have words with him about that. Words like 'I will burn you alive if you tell anyone else' should do the trick.

"So, which one?" Carver said.

"Mercenaries at least operate inside the law," Aveline provided.

"That isn't really a _good_ thing for someone like me," Malina answered. " _My existence_ isn't inside the law, remember?"

"So… smugglers, then?" Carver asked.

"I think so," she said. "The leader said they don't touch slavery, that's _something_ , at least." She glanced over at the smugglers huddled in the corner. The leader's slim back was turned to her, hair pulled up into a rough knot. "The leader's a woman, so I probably won't have to deal with any assholes looking down on me. Mother said Kirkwall isn't like Ferelden for women."

"So… your justification is that you want to join the smugglers because they're run by a woman?"

"No," Malina said. "I want to join the smugglers since anyone already outside the law isn't likely to call the templars on me. That we have clear proof women are equals is just… a bonus."

"And elves, evidently," Carver said.

"True," Malina replied. "Makes me think we won't be asked to shake down the alienage or anything." She made a face at the idea. She hadn't known many elves in her life, but her father had always spoken disdainfully about how they were treated in large cities. The way he described it had sounded horrific, almost as bad as the way mages were treated. He had known many elves, evidently, since they were more likely to be mages.

"It just sounds so… shady to me," Aveline admitted.

Malina grinned at her, shrugging. "Welcome to our life," she said. "Besides, you'll probably get a real job in two days with your experience. We're the ones who need to find a way to support ourselves."

"And get into the city," Carver said.

"That settles it," she said, walking over to the elven woman. "We're in," Malina announced as soon as they were in the shade-covered corner, hidden from the guards' sight.

Ah, but it wasn't enough to have a deal in advance. Of course it wasn't. She sent them to shake down a merchant operating out of the Gallows. Walking over, Malina listened to him arguing with refugees. Hearing another Ferelden accent beg for help didn't make any of them more sympathetic to the merchant. Threatening him after that was almost _fun._ Watching him squirm when her verbal taunts were joined by Aveline's blade pressed to his throat elevated the entire thing to _actual_ fun.

"There," she said, holding up a coin purse. "Making assholes wet themselves in fear. That isn't such a bad job."

"You enjoyed that a bit too much," Carver said.

Raising an eyebrow, Malina smiled before tossing the bag to the smugger captain as they walked over. "Funny, here I was thinking if we were anywhere but the Circle of Magi I could have had a lot _more_ fun with it."

* * *

 _New AOA mid-week..._   
_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	7. Can I use my own spike?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making new friends in Kirkwall at last...

Being a smuggler wasn't as bad as Malina had feared. Sure, they were seen by everyone else in the crew as barely-literate "dog lords," especially when the others learned they had escaped Ferelden with an actual _dog,_ but considering the rest saw themselves as Darktown trash it wasn't much more than a fine distinction.

She had what felt like a thousand questions to ask: what happened to the Amell estate being rather close to the top of the list. However, with Gamlen already out carousing by the time she woke most days it kept getting pushed back. The year passed quickly, due to her own exhaustion as much as anything else. Working all night, she and Carver slept most days away. One night they would be sneaking crates past the port authority, another night carrying mysterious bundles through the sewers below Darktown. She rarely had to use her magic to do more than intimidate or scare. Not to say the two were never called on to kill anyone… it was just less killing than either of them had initially expected. Fortunately, true to their word, the group protected her from the templars

However, as the year drew to a close both she and Carver found themselves anxious to be done.

"It isn't even that I hate it," Carver admitted late one night, or perhaps early one morning if the birds were any indication. "I just hate being forced into it."

"Yes," Malina agreed with a nod. "I'll always feel like that. They basically bought, when it comes down to it. And not just to get us into the city: she said something about Gamlen and her being even."

Carver winced. "So… what? We could have been done months ago but we're working off his debt, too?"

She nodded. "I think so. I asked Athenril once, she acted really funny about it."

"Well _great_ ," he said. "She'll be mad to have you leave, at least," he said after a moment. "I heard one of the guys saying she was bragging about how great you were." He paused. "What's his name, with the blue eyes. I thought you and him…"

Malina made a face. "Oh yes, it was a magical moment. I was drunk, he was drunk, and we fell off our stools together. One for the storybooks. Especially when he told me I wasn't bad 'for a mage.'"

"Ouch," Carver said. "Well I guess that explains that. He's been avoiding even me. Probably expects I'll jump in for some brotherly justice." He snorted at the idea.

"No…" Malina said. "It's probably because I set his hair on fire for that line."

Finally the last day came. "You know, you don't have to leave," Athenril said. "You're good, I don't have anyone else who comes close."

"I want to see what else is out there," Malina said, trying to be diplomatic. Part of her worried the 'what else' was 'nothing at all' and she didn't want to eliminate the chance to return. So, knowing they might be begging for work once more, she did her best to try and soften the blow. It wasn't working. "I've barely seen anything but Lowtown since we got to Kirkwall."

"You'll be back," was all her now-former boss said, and with that, they were smugglers no longer.

Of course, it turned out Malina was right: there was no work in Kirkwall. No work open to a couple Ferelden refugees, at least. Carver couldn't even get a job on the city guard, something they had been pinning more than a few hopes on. With Aveline on the force Malina had hoped she would put in a good word for Carver. She had even dropped several hints to her about it, commenting about how with a regular income they could move out of Gamlen's tiny hovel, and that she would be happy to do any healing or other magical work for the guards free of charge out of gratitude.

Finding out Aveline had, in fact, recommended the guards _not_ hire Carver set Malina's teeth on edge. She had always suspected the woman thought she was better than the Hawkes, and that was all the confirmation she needed. "What will we do now?" he muttered as they walked through Hightown.

"We can always take up dancing for coppers?" she suggested, not having any more of an idea than he did. Every idea they came up with crashed down on them in one way or another. Work as mercenaries? Blacklisted for being smugglers. Work as a guard? Aveline had seen clear to preventing that. Malina could barely even make ten silver a week healing people on the sly, since most were too afraid to even ask.

They had just tried to get hired onto an expedition into the deep roads, figuring their experience fighting darkspawn might be a plus. Even _that_ was shot down. "We _need_ to think of something," Carver said, sounding frazzled. "Money can keep the Chantry at bay…"

"Relax," Malina laughed drily. "They are _my_ templars. _You'll_ be fine." She raised an eyebrow at him, throwing an earlier comment he had made back in her brother's face.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Did I sound that bad? Maker, we _really_ need to move. I think I'm turning into _Gamlen_."

She shrugged. "It's all right. You'd be almost as screwed as me if they caught us."

"Maybe," Carver agreed. "I really can't say I like the idea of waking up in the Gallows."

Malina laughed at that, glancing around at the Hightown estates. "You and me both. Really, why would they name it that in the first place. The Gallows. No wonder mages want to avoid it with a name like that. They should have gone with… The Meadows. Or maybe The Seashore."

"Then they would get their pick of the really stupid mages?" Carver asked.

"If it keeps them busy and away from me, sure."

Before Carver could respond to that, his sister gave a shout. Speeding away from them was a scrawny teenager, her purse clutched in his fist. "Shit," she muttered. "So much for groceries."

Ready to give up and return home, admitting utter failure for the day, Malina turned back. She was just in time to spot a blonde dwarf aiming the largest crossbow she had ever seen. A bolt went flying past them, pinning the pickpocket to a wall.

Strutting, actually _strutting,_ over to the man, the dwarf spoke briefly, too quietly for her to hear, took back the purse, and punched him in the face. "Here you go," he said, tossing it to her.

"I… thank you," Malina said, still too shocked someone had bothered to _help_ them to even crack a joke.

"I happened to overhear you speaking with my brother," the man went on casually. "He wouldn't know a good idea if it performed a seven veil dance right before his eyes."

"And you would?"

"I _am_ the smart brother," came the reply. "Varric Tethras, at your service. I may have a solution to your problem."

Exchanging a glance with her brother, Malina shrugged. A potential solution, even worthless, was more than they had now. "You're going on the expedition."

"Have to," he said. "If I let the head of our House go down into the Deep Roads alone I'll never hear the end of it. I think I know a way to get the two of you on that trip, if you're interested."

"Why would you help us?" He gestured to an alleyway. Malina followed. Once out of hearing from the rest of the midday pedestrians, the man talked about how the coterie had squeezed every competing group of smugglers out of Kirkwall, save Athenril's gang. That, for some reason, was being attributed to her.

"You mean _us_ ," Malina said, seeing Carver's face take on a scowl.

Varric shrugged. "His name is brought up a bit, but it's you everyone is talking about." _So much for averting another fight later,_ she thought.

"So how do you plan to get him to hire us on to the expedition?"

The man laughed. "No, you misunderstood. We don't need more hirelings. We need another _partner_. Batrand's all but ripped his beard out trying to pay for this, and it just isn't happening. Fifty sovereign, with me to vouch for you, and he can't refuse."

"I… see," Malina said. "So… here's the problem. If we _had_ fifty sovereign I wouldn't be so desperate to go into the _Deep Roads_."

He only laughed. "You need to think big. Stick with me and you'll have all the money you need before you know it."

"Oh?"

"I know everyone in this city worth knowing. I can get you work, or…"

Malina blinked in surprise. _Did he just introduce a crossbow?_

"Bianca?"

"Isn't she gorgeous?" he said brightly.

Carver elbowed her, tapping the side of his head. Malina could only shrug. It was the best option they'd had so far- really, the only option.

"Meet me at the Hanged Man later. It's in—"

"I know where it is," Malina said.

"Right," he said. "You must have gotten used to rough areas as a smuggler."

"Actually," Malina said, grinning, "we live around the corner from there."

The dwarf laughed at that. "Well, you won't have far to stumble home, then!"

Walking home, she glanced over at Carver. "What do you think?"

He made a face. "Even in a new country everyone only seems to care about you. Apparently once again I'm just Malina's baby brother." Sitting down on the steps to Gamlen's small house, he picked up a stone and tossed it at a wall. "Seems like I'll never get out of your shadow."

"Carver—"

He waved her off. "Don't _Carver_ me, Malina. I've heard it all before. You can't help it, Mages will always stand out since they're rare, you never asked for this. I really don't want to hear all the reasons people remember you and forget me _again_."

"Actually," she cut in, "I was going to suggest we head over to the Hanged Man instead of having the same argument for the hundredth time." He stood up. "Really, though… with your personality I can't see why people _don't_ remember you." She had long since given up on trying to smooth things over with him when this subject came up. Nothing short of throwing herself at his feet and begging forgiveness would calm him when he was on a tear… and maybe not even that.

Making a face, he stalked ahead towards the bar. Varric was clearly confident. He had been waiting for them downstairs and stood as they entered, welcoming the pair in. Showing them to his private suite on the second floor, he settled into a large chair and gestured for the Hawke siblings to join him. Glancing around, she was surprised at the luxury of the surroundings. While the lower levels were on par with any of the Lowtown taverns, this room appeared to have been moved in its entreaty from what must have been a very nice neighborhood in Orzammar.

"So, I was thinking," he said, leaning back. "We need a way _into_ the deep roads."

"That _would_ be the ideal way to start an expedition there," Malina said. "Almost mandatory, I would guess."

"Exactly," he said, laughing. "There are a lot of entrances, but not all are any good. Cave-ins block most of them, a few have already been plundered, some are still filled with darkspawn. Bartrand had one lined up, but it was a bust. Cave in. We were going to just pick one and try our luck, but I may have a better plan."

"Please don't suggest we try them out ourselves first," she said.

"Aw, you're no fun," he said, laughing. "No, I don't plan on having the three of us stomp down to the Deep Roads alone. I had my ear to the ground and got some interesting information. There's a Grey Warden in the city. Now… someone like that, they could get us into the Deep Roads."

"Why would he help us?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Varric countered. "We're not asking for anything but information. That won't cost him anything."

"Fair enough," Malina said. "Where is he?"

Varric shrugged. "Not a clue. But I think if we ask at the Ferelden import shop they might know."

Varric, Malina decided, was one of those people who made everything sound _easy_. Come up with fifty sovereign, ask a Grey Warden for his maps, talk to someone at the import shop. He left out little things. Things like everyone in the shop staring at them in suspicion, eyes dragging across Malina's Kirkwall-purchased armor from her days as a smuggler. Things like the woman behind the counter railing against them, worried they would call the templars on this man everyone referred to as 'the healer.'

"Oh," she said finally, realization dawning, "he's a _mage_." That explained why they were defending him. Her own father had remained safe from the local templars for years just because no one in town would turn in the one man who could cure their injuries.

"Of _course_ he's a mage," she said, continuing her long speech about all of his good works. He was, apparently, helping the refugees for _free_. Malina couldn't claim to be surprised that they would protect him. No one else seemed to care about the Fereldans in Kirkwall. "You think I'd bother if it was some potion-peddling swindler?"

"Great," Carver muttered. "Another precious little mage-flower. I hope we don't offend his delicate sensibilities."

"Quiet," she hissed at him. "Look, I don't want to turn him in. _Believe me,_ I'm the last person who would do that." Setting her hands on the counter, she looked down and raised an eyebrow. Faint white light surrounded Malina's fingertips. "Really, if you can promise me he has a nice eyes and a killer smile I'd be tempted to send the man a proposal."

The woman finally relaxed. "Oh, he's got the eyes. Never seen him smile, though… something tells me his life's been harder than most."

 _Not surprising_ , Malina thought. She didn't think there were many mages whose lives had been _easy_ , after all.

"Look for the lantern in Darktown. If you need him, he'll be there."

Standing outside she glanced over at Varric. "What kind of shit is that? _Look for the lantern in Darktown?_ Could it be more cryptic? Does it have to be when the moon is full? Should I sacrifice a bunny first?"

"It is a bit… dramatic, isn't it?" he mused. "I should write it down."

Malina gasped. "You're _that_ Varric?"

He laughed warmly. "That's me. What, don't tell me you've read _Hard in Hightown_."

She giggled. "I have!" He didn't need to know the serialized guard drama often more full of sex scenes than actual guarding was the only reading material in Gamlen's house. Before the conversation could continue a small group accosted them, again with accusations of trying to bring the templars against this healer.

 _This has got to be the most well-protected apostate in Kirkwall_ , she thought to herself as Carver berated them for harassing fellow Fereldans.

"Well then," she said. "I suppose we should go stumble aimlessly through Darktown looking for a lantern. Who thinks we'll get mugged again before the day is out? _I_ think we'll get mugged again."

It wasn't nearly as difficult as she had expected.

Malina had been in Darktown before. The sewer tunnels below Kirkwall had been well-used by smugglers for generations, and she was no different. The squalor never failed to bother her, though. Hearing accents like her own from all sides, with faces that could have come straight from Lothering glancing over suspiciously as she, Carver, and Varric cut their way through the crowd in their Free Marshes clothing, made her stomach twist up. Guilt for her complaints over Gamlen's small Lowtown house almost overwhelmed her; things could have been so much _worse_.

After perhaps half an hour of aimless wandering something began tugging at her senses. "This way," she said.

"You said that three times before and we've only ended up attacked by gangs in dead end alleys," Carver whined.

"Well, this gang must have a _mage_ ," she replied. Magic, _powerful_ magic, was being cast not far away. "I can feel it."

Carver looked over at her in curiosity. She had never talked about the actual process of using magic or the experience of being a mage with him. His knowledge was limited to seeing what mages could do, and knowing they had to maintain an extreme level of secrecy for his father and sisters' safety. "You can _feel_ it?"

"That's normal," she said. "I could tell when Father or Bethany cast a spell, too. I could even tell which one it was."

"And this?"

"It's definitely not either of them," she said. "They're strong, whoever it is."

Carver shrugged, following her without hesitation now that he understood why. "Makes sense. They say Grey Wardens only take the very best."

She continued to follow the sensation, taking them up and down stairs and around corners. _How long can one mage cast?_ she wondered briefly, when the spells didn't seem to break off. Finally they did cease, with no lantern in sight, and Malina grumbled in annoyance. She had just been about to inform the others that their trail was cold when the magic began once more. "Ah, here we go," she said, pointing them through an alley.

"How bloody far is he," Carver groused. "You said he was close."

"I thought he _was_ ," she hissed. "I didn't know he was some kind of… freak." She half-expected to turn a corner and see three desire demons playing a hand of cards; the level of magic was that strong. How every templar within a hundred miles wasn't seeking him out like a bee to a flower she had no idea.

"Freak?" Varric said, sounding amused.

Malina sighed. "I just mean… he's very powerful. As far as we've gone… well, none of the mages I've ever known could be sensed from that far away."

"And just how many mages have you known?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Um… there's me… my sister… my father…" she said, "and, well, that's it. We don't exactly have monthly apostate meetings where we gossip over tea and cakes, you know."

He looked over at her in surprise. "Did you grow up on some remote farm? Even _I've_ met more mages than that, and the Dwarven Merchant's Guild isn't exactly crawling with them."

"Our farm wasn't _that_ remote," she laughed.

At last, she saw a garish paper lantern over a set of double doors. "There it is. I'll be damned, a lit lantern." Walking closer, she looked over her shoulder. "Although "left at the entrance, down the stairs, right into the alley, and go straight past the dead dog would have been much _clearer_ directions."

"And if the dead dog had been moved?" Carver asked. Malina and Varric both responded with laughter.

Staring at the glowing paper globe, Malina made a face. "Where would he even _get_ something like that? Importing paper lanterns from Nevarra, but living in a sewer? Makes no sense." Shrugging, she shoved the doors open.

Without a physical barrier it was obvious they had found the right place. Even if she couldn't _see_ the man bent over a small child on a rough cot, the wave of magical energy pouring off him almost knocked her from her feet. She couldn't make out much of him past the boy's parents. A hint of light hair. A green sleeve. What looked to be, of all things, _feathers_.

She recognized two of the people standing with him; they had been in the import shop begging for help. Their child had been crushed by a mine cart. It sounded fatal. From where she stood, it _looked_ fatal. But as they watched the small boy began to stir. His chest filled out as flattened bones rebuilt themselves and finally, with a loud gasp, he sat up.

 _Am I **that** weak?_ Malina thought, watching him achieve what should have been impossible; what _would_ have been impossible for her. She had no idea. Perhaps all the mages in her family were weak; it was the only basis for comparison she had.

As the tearful mother embraced the child and led him away, the father clapped the healer on the back, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor in his exhaustion. Helping the mage steady himself, the two exchanged a few words before he left to rejoin his family.

Now that she could see the healer, at least from the side, Malina decided he wasn't dressed like any Fereldan she had ever known. While she couldn't speak for Grey Warden _mages_ , the two Wardens who passed through Lothering had been wearing cheap looking splintmail and light leathers, not feathered pauldrons with yards of bandages wrapped around every appendage. He was standing still, hand braced against a pillar with his head hanging low. His entire posture spoke of exhaustion.

Carver cleared his throat. Malina resisted the urge to spin and hit him. She was far more nervous than she had expected and would have liked another moment to prepare herself. She had no idea how other apostates behaved, if he would welcome her because she was a mage or distrust her all the more because she knew he was one, too. And he was powerful… far more powerful than her. That was something she shouldn't forget. Any hope she might have had to come up with a nice way to interrupt him was destroyed by Carver's noise.

Magic flared around him, an unfamiliar spell, and he spun, grabbing a staff before facing them. Hand up in warning, the man narrowed his eyes.

 _Oh, doesn't that just figure_ , Malina thought, feeling herself blush as she openly stared. The woman in the import shop hadn't been kidding about his eyes: eyes that were currently narrowed in suspicion and loathing. If she had to guess his mood, Malina would say he looked tempted to turn them all into a smoking crater. "Stop!" he demanded. "I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation. Why do you threaten it?"

Carver snorted behind her. " _Sanctum of healing and salvation? Is he bloody kidding? What bad theater did he climb out of?"_

She had to admit, it _was_ a little over the top. The fact that this clearly angry man viewed them as a threat was a greater concern to her at the moment, though. Reminding herself that Carver had no way to know how powerful he was, she held up both hands, making sure not to cast anything out of nervousness. "We're just here to talk."

Varric explained their goal, asking him for the maps. First, he accused them of being with the Grey Wardens, trying to take him back. Then, he smiled wisfuly about his cat the Wardens took away.

The woman at the import store had _no idea_ what she was missing there.

"Will you help us?" Malina finally said.

"No."

She stared at him in surprise. He had turned, returning to his patients. " _No_?"

"No," he repeated. "The Deep Roads are no _game_. It's not some adventure you're planning here… people die there. _Most_ people who go there die. I want nothing to do with it."

"I'll pay you!" she offered. She had a few coins and, judging by the surroundings, was better off than him.

He paused re-dressing a man's wounded arm. "Does it _look_ like I'm here to make money?" The healer shoved a bandage at her. "Now make yourself useful or get out of my way." Storming past, he continued to the next patient. While he still looked tempted to kill them, now it would seem to be out of annoyance.

"Damnit, I need those maps!" she snapped as he continued to ignore her, moving to a counter at the back of the room to root through small bottles of potions. Fire began to crackle at her fingers.

He spun, almost growling. "Don't threaten me, little girl! You have no idea what I've done to get here, what I'm capable of!"

Jumping back, Malina winced at his expression, half-expecting to be hit with lightning at any moment. For a moment she could have sworn his eyes looked… blue. Rubbing her face, she glanced back nervously to see they had returned to the same soft shade of brown they were before. It was, she decided, the same color as the wheat on their farm had been. "Sorry, sorry," she squeaked, tempted to add 'please don't kill me.'

Folding his arms, he quirked an eyebrow up, a small smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. "And _you_ planned to go into the Deep Roads?" With a chuckle, he returned to his patients.

"Not planned," Malina said, refusing to give up. " _Plan_. We're going, with or without your help. I _know_ it's dangerous… but with your maps we stand a better chance. You could save lives!" She had to admit, the last bit was a rather low blow; she was hoping to appeal to someone who clearly spent most of his time doing nothing _but_ saving lives.

He looked conflicted. Closing his eyes, the man turned his back on her for a moment, hand to his forehead. It sounded… briefly… like he was whispering to himself. "Fine," he finally said, still annoyed. "Maybe we can work something out. Favor for a favor?"

"Sounds fair."

"You don't even want to know what it is?" he asked. "I could be ready to ask you for the Knight Commander's head on a spike."

Considering that, she smiled. "Can I use my own spike? Or did you have one already picked out for her? I think it should be something _pretty._ Maybe blue, to bring out her eyes."

Almost-smiling again, he nodded. "Perhaps we have more in common than I thought. But no… maybe that can wait for another day." His face darkened and he pressed his hands to his mouth briefly. "I have… a _friend."_

* * *

 _So I have to think someone powered by an actual fade spirit will be much, much more powerful than your run of the mill mage... and anything contrary in the game is just mechanics._ _Knowing when someone is a mage, and how powerful they are, is actually cannon. Morrigan and Wynne say as much when they meet the hermit in the forest in Origins._

 _Slowly, slowly catching up on replying to reviews. Thanks so much to all of you!_ _Even if I haven't said so individually yet, I will._


	8. I'm a girl, we like fancy things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders' plan leaves something to be desired.

"Are you out of your damned _mind_?" Carver shouted as they walked through Darktown. "You're insane. You are _completely_ insane. I hope you know this."

Malina groaned, putting her hands to her head. "Shut _up_ , Carver. I need to think."

" _What_ is there to think about? We go back there, you start acting like a normal bloody person and not a drooling idiot, and you tell that sewer mage _no_."

Varric was staying quiet, glancing between them with barely-concealed amusement. But then, he had a brother, too.

In retrospect Malina probably shouldn't have agreed to his bargain without hearing what he actually _wanted_ first. She had expected some small errand, maybe something to help fortify him against the templars who would certainly be looking for an apostate openly healing people below the city.

She certainly didn't expect him to tell her of an elaborate plan to break his friend free of the Circle of Magi.

" _Karl's a Fereldan, like us,"_ he had said, clearly trying to convince her even though she had already agreed. _"He was transferred here and, well… the moment I found out I knew I had to help him. Every Circle is bad, but Kirkwall… Kirkwall is the worst."_ Something about the tone of his voice nearly made her shudder. When it combined with how lightheaded she felt from standing so close to him, since he was trying to keep from being overheard, she could barely do more than nod dumbly.

The plan had already been worked out, well in advance. It seemed he would be going through with it regardless, and simply wanted some extra help. His friend had made plans to go to the Chantry- evidently mages were allowed on occasion, and he was using the excuse of saying prayers for a late parent to do so. While there he would slip away from his guarding templar and hide, waiting for Anders to show up. _Templars_. Her skin crawled at the word.

" _Will you help me?"_ he finally asked, gaze intense as he stared at her.

 _Not wheat,_ she thought briefly. _His eyes are the color of_ _ **bread.**_ _Fresh baked bread._ As she stared, contemplating this, he cleared his throat and blushed slightly, glancing away. _Oops_.

" _I would help any mage in those circumstances,"_ she said quickly. _"Map or no."_

It was that line Carver now parroted back at her as they walked back to the Hanged Man. "Seriously?" he said. "I can't believe you said something like that. What, you get within ten feet of another mage and both of you have to start sounding like characters from a bad Tevinter drama?"

"Carver, so help me, if you don't shut up…" she warned, shooting him a glare. He rolled his eyes but, thankfully, went silent. "I _need_ to _think_." She went over his plan again and again. It was… well, if forced to admit it, it was _horrible_. It was just shy of actually breaking into the Gallows and carrying this man to safety in terms of horrible. "Too many _ifs_ ," she muttered to herself. " _If_ he gets permission to go to the Chantry. _If_ he manages to slip away from his guard. _If_ his guard assumes he snuck out and leaves to hunt for him. _If_ we can get in and out without attracting the attention of the other templars…"

"So why are we doing this?" Carver's silence, as usual, was short-lived.

Malina sighed. "Because…" she fought for an answer.

"Because you want to make eyes at him some more?" Carver supplied, being even _less_ helpful than he normally was.

"Fuck you," she muttered. "We need his maps, this is the only way we can get them."

"Bullshit."

She groaned, putting her hand up briefly to shield her eyes from the glare as they emerged into Lowtown. "Hardly," Malina said. "And… well… I want to help." She remembered the high stone walls of the Gallows, shiny brass statues of figures in anguish along the walls. No one should have to live there, _no one_.

Carver raised an eyebrow. "Mother would kill you."

"Maybe," Malina agreed.

"Father, too," he added. "Well… if he was…" Carver shook his head. "After all the shit they did to keep you safe you're going to risk it over some guy?"

She grumbled. "It isn't over some _guy_ , Carver. His friend needs _help_. If it was me, I'd want someone to help." In the back of her mind a memory emerged, walking with her father on a late night road, miles from where she stood now. "Father would have helped him." Carver raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. She suspected he knew she was right.

Killing time, they went to see Aveline, hoping she would have some work to toss their way. Work, and coin, to be more specific. Carver glanced around at the guards enviously, not hiding his annoyance. She could see her brother's eyes linger here and there, mentally comparing various colleagues of Aveline to himself. He didn't look impressed. Malina had to admit, she wasn't, either. Several were playing cards. More than a few smelled of ale, despite the early hour. If that was the standard they held themselves to, well, Carver being a bit of an asshole shouldn't keep him out.

It was an old argument, though, and not worth rehashing.

"I wish you wouldn't spy on me," Malina said, sitting on a bench with Aveline.

"I worry about you," came the response. "With the way you walk around, not even hiding that staff… it seems like the templars are bound to catch on."

"What staff?" Malina said, removing it from her back. "This is a halberd, just like the Qunari use. They're all the rage."

Aveline rolled her eyes. "First, the Qunari use spears, not halberds. Second… if that's a halberd, you're holding it upside down. "

Malina shrugged. "Well, it's a spear, then. A very fancy one. I'm a girl, we like fancy things. Right?"

"You're asking _me_?" The women's eyes met and both laughed. As they went quiet, Aveline looked briefly uncomfortable. "You… your family… sometimes I feel like you're all I have to remind me of home."

"Is it still home?" Malina said, more to herself.

Aveline considered that. "Not sure," she said finally. "New king now. New Ferelden. I admit… I do like being a guard. Some days more than I liked being a soldier." Malina looked over curiously. "Soldiers… they help people, but it's so distant. You don't much think about some far off war, or the standing army keeping anyone from invading you. Guards, they can help people directly."

"Makes sense," Malina agreed. "I knew you were in it for the glory."

Aveline gasped, sounding like she was readying a good long shout, before she glanced over. Seeing Malina's smirk, she softened, smiling a little. "I should have known you were kidding."

"You should have," Malina agreed, hopping down. It was growing dark outside. "So… two nights from now, then?" Aveline had offered them work, fortunately. Honest, and paying, work.

"Yes," Aveline nodded. "I'll meet you at your house. Tell that uncle of yours if he can't keep his hands to himself I'll be passing them back to him in a bloody sack, though."

"Will do," she said.

"I can't help but notice," Varric said as they left to have a quick meal before heading to the Chantry, "you didn't invite your friend there to help us tonight."

"No," Malina said, "I didn't." She looked over at him and shrugged. "Aveline has this thing for law and order. I suspect she wouldn't much like what we have planned."

"And she used to be married to a templar," Carver added.

"But if you point that out she'll only roll her eyes and say no, she was married to a _man_ , not a _templar_."

Varric laughed. "You know interesting people. I like that. Interesting people make for good stories."

Malina smiled, chuckling along with him as they walked into the Hanged Man. "You want stories? I'll tell you one with a dragon in it if you're buying dinner!"

They headed to the Chantry, finding Anders already waiting for them near the doors. "In case things go bad," he said, handing her several heavy rolled sheets of vellum. The maps. Malina passed them off to Carver without unrolling them. Anders looked at her curiously and shook his head. "Just let me do the talking" he said, looking pointedly at Malina.

She nodded. Almost unconsciously, her hand drifted towards a pocket. She had stowed several lyrium potions there… just in case.

"I get the feeling your new friend the sewer mage doesn't like you very much," Carver said quietly as they followed him into the Chantry. Without looking over Malina reached a hand out, striking him with a tiny bolt of lightning.

"Bitch," he grumbled.

"Deserved it," came the reply.

Anders glanced back at them in time to see Carver elbow Malina, and her respond with a curse and a threat involving fire. He made a face but ultimately ignored their squabble. "I want to check upstairs."

"I can't sense any magic," Malina mused, following him. "Maybe he left?"

"Neither can I," Anders agreed, face grim. "I don't want to just give up, though. He could be shielding himself, it's not impossible."

"It's not?" Malina said, glancing up at him. He looked at her like she was an idiot and shook his head.

Sighing, she followed behind him, ignoring Carver's snicker.

"Karl?" Anders said, approaching a man in robes.

"Anders…" the man responded, his back to them. Something about his voice seemed… wrong. "I knew you would never give up. I know you too well for that."

Malina wasn't the only one who sensed something amiss. Carver glanced at her and shifted uncomfortably, brushing his fingertips against his forehead. Listening to the monotone, she swallowed roughly and nodded.

Anders ignored them, closing in on his friend and demanding to know what's wrong. "Why are you talking like that?" he finally said, desperation in his voice as he reached out, spinning the man to face him. When the brand on his forehead came into view Anders drew back as though burned and muttered "no," under his breath before stumbling several paces away.

The man talked about mages needing to learn control, about how the templars _helped_ him, and Malina felt bile rise in her throat. "Maker…" Carver muttered, looking horrified.

 _ **What**_ _Maker_ , Malina thought, staring at Karl's dead eyes.

Of course, there was a reason this tranquil mage was waiting for them in the Chantry. "Oh _shit_ ," Carver said, elbowing her as he glanced back over his shoulder in time to see a group of approaching templars.

"This is the apostate," Karl offered, pointing out Anders.

 _Run!_ her mind screamed even as she took the staff off her back and braced herself. Glancing at Carver and Varric, she nodded, letting them know she was prepared to fight. They both responded in kind, readying their own weapons. When she looked over at Anders, he was on his knees, hands wrapped around his head.

Stepping closer, still keeping the templars in her line of sight, she could see he was _shaking_.

Before Malina could point out that this wasn't the best time to fall apart, the mage was on his feet again.

"What the _fuck_?" she choked out. Light poured from cracks in his skin, smoke seemed to rise up from him. His _eyes_ , the eyes she had been staring at like a fool only a few hours ago, were now indeed very blue. Completely blue, and glowing, in fact.

He ignored her look of shock. Charging past her towards the templars, his voice echoed off the walls. "You will _never_ take another mage as you took him," he roared. Malina shuddered as he passed. Magic, strange and powerful, was pouring from him.

"What in the bloody Void is going on?" Carver asked, grabbing her arm.

An arrow shot past her. "Later," she said, beginning a spell. "Fight now!"

A templar appeared behind her. " _Stealth's_ cheating," she grumbled before spinning, whipping the bladed end of her staff toward him. He stumbled back, falling to his knees and looking at her with shock. The man mumbled something, trying to move his hands. If forced to guess, she would say he wanted to smite her… but that wasn't likely as several very important looking body parts were now hanging half out of the wide gash in his chest. With a final spell she ended his attempts at retaliation before moving on to another target.

Glancing around, she saw Carver holding his own against a man in a bucket helm, and Varriv laughing from his position on top of a table as he shot out one bolt after another, vocally praising Bianca all the while.

Anders was… well, they were _trying_ to smite him. She could see three glowing templars surrounding the mage. He just wasn't paying attention to their efforts, instead sending out enough lightning to brighten the entire Chantry. Of course, she could also see a great deal of blood, most of it _his_ , but he seemed completely oblivious to that.

She couldn't heal him, not _now_. While he, _whatever_ he was, might be able to shrug off a smite, she wouldn't be so lucky. Even getting close enough to try would probably be her death. Circling behind the templars, so she was facing him instead, Malina caught his eye and nodded. To her surprise he acknowledged her briefly, meeting her gaze with those glowing eyes and stepping slightly to one side to clear himself from her line of fire.

Now he was facing only two on one.

A few more spells and the last of the templars joined their companions as well.

A shudder went through Anders' body. Stumbling back a few steps, he rubbed his face and looked around. With relief, Malina could see he was normal once more. Ignoring her, he rushed over to Karl. Catching bits of their conversation, she walked over behind him, Carver and Varric at her side. Karl was agitated, panicked even. Realizing what had happened, her jaw fell.

"But… you were tranquil," she interrupted, too surprised to keep quiet. Whatever Anders had done, whatever that spell was, had made a _tranquil_ feel again.

The effect was only temporary, though. It had seemed a miracle at first, but now just appeared to prolong the cruelty. Karl began to beg for someone to kill him. Looking at Anders, he put a hand on the man's shoulder. "I would rather _die_ than live as a templar puppet," he pled. " _Please_ , help me." Anders pulled back, feathers from his robe ripping out in Karl's clenched fist.

Glancing around, he looked at Malina; apparently he wanted to get the opinion of another mage. Varric and Carver might as well have been part of the scenery to him at that point. Looking at Karl, he met her eyes and pled silently for Malina to voice an agreement. "I…" she took a breath, knowing there was no way to soften her words. "I would rather die than be tranquil." It was the truth, she had known ever since her father told her about the procedure.

He nodded. Embracing the man, Anders ignored the returning monotone and whispered an apology before thrusting a blade between his ribs. He spun to look away before the body hit the ground. Muttering "more templars are sure to come. Let's get out of here," his slim frame stalked off quickly.

"What was _that_?" Carver demanded as they left. "I've never seen you cast that spell, or Father, or Bethany." He gave her a pointed look. "You were as shocked as me, don't even deny it. I saw your face, Malina."

"I don't know what it was," she replied.

"The sewer mage is a bloody abomination!" Carver hissed. "That wasn't even his voice he was shouting with!"

She glanced up at the man leading them out. One slim arm reached up, hand wiping his face, before he pushed open the massive doors. "I… don't think so," she said. "He didn't _feel_ like a demon."

" _Feel_ like a demon? What in the bloody void is that supposed to mean?"

"It means demons feel evil and he _didn't_ ," she snapped. "I don't _know_ what it was. But I don't think it was a demon. It… it just felt like…"

"Like _what_ ," Carver demanded, hand on his sword. "Tell me now, since you're not giving me many reasons to keep from cutting him down right here."

"It felt like the Fade," she said finally. "Like what that other mage said, the tranquil one. It felt like the Fade itself."

Carver groaned. "Great," he muttered, glaring at her. "Another of your little 'mage secrets.' You tell me something I can't make heads or tails of, and I have to accept it since I have no way to know if you're full of shit or not." They were outside now, the Hightown streets silent enough to encourage them to continue whispering. "Well, why don't you go _ask_ him what that was all about."

Looking over, she saw Anders staring forward blankly, wet tracks on his cheeks. He looked completely broken by what had happened in the Chantry.

"Stop gaping and fucking _ask_ ," Carver said, shoving her forward.

With a final glance at Anders, she turned back to her brother. " _Now_ _is_ _not the time,"_ Malina hissed. Varric and Anders both turned to look at them curiously. She must have been louder than she thought. Gulping down a lyrium potion, she walked over to the mage, handing him one. He accepted it with shaking hands, swallowing the contents quickly. Some color, not much, returned to his face. Without glancing at himself, he cast a few quick spells and the bleeding stopped. She cursed herself for not thinking of that sooner in all the chaos. "I'm so sorry about your friend," Malina said, not sure what else could be said. Sorry seemed pathetically inadequate, though. She was reminded of Aveline and Wesley in Lothering, and felt that same helplessness all over again. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He shook his head. "No… I…." Anders groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Thank you. But I just want to go home."

Nodding, she watched as he walked down the stairs and around the corner, disappearing down an alley and into the night.

* * *

 _As I mentioned in my a/n for Stone and Sky, I'm more behind than usual, thanks to a hot date between my laptop and a big glass of water. Behind in reading, lost updates to three of my fics, behind in... well, everything. So... sorry about that._   
_Thanks for reading and reviewing! I've got some new art, this time by Mistiqarts on DeviantArt, to share, this one of Anders and Malina... well, a few chapters from now. (probably more than 'a few')  
[](http://fav.me/d3i1lqp)_


	10. My cooking hasn't killed anyone... yet

Varric had been right, there was plenty of work to go around so long as they knew where to look for it. Malina and Carver seemed to be even _busier_ than when they were underpaid smugglers, although a year ago she would have said such a thing was impossible.

Always on the lookout for ways to make money, Malina was almost too occupied to think about the mage living below them in Darktown.

Almost.

"Maybe I should check in on him," she mused one day while they sat in the Hanged Man. A pirate, who had asked for help in a duel a few days earlier, was drinking with them.

"Who's that, kitten?" she asked, lazily swirling wine in her glass. "Someone fun, I hope." Isabela, it turned out, was on a never-ending hunt for 'fun.'

Carver glanced up, narrowing his eyes. "Oh no," he said.

"What?" Malina responded. "We're supposed to go chasing after that apostate boy, I think he'd want to help."

They had seen an elven woman arguing with one of the merchants in Lowtown. She was demanding help; he was doing a bad job of pretending not to know her. On a hunch, Malina decided to follow the woman back to the alienage. Maybe it was help they could provide. Maybe it was help they could be _paid_ for offering. It turned out her teenage son, an apostate, had run away after discovering she alerted the templars.

Pay or not, she found herself readily agreeing.

Grumbling, Carver finished his drink. "More mages for the magic errand? Just what we need."

"It might be just what we need!" Malina snapped. "I'm not sending him off to the templars, but I have no idea what to do with a teenage apostate! We certainly can't move him into Gamlen's with us. Maybe Anders will have a better plan."

"Or… maybe he'll start glowing and setting things on fire," Carver replied. "He's an abomination!" Carver flagged over a waitress, waving his empty glass from across the room. "I think our waitress is drunk," he muttered when she sloshed ale across the table while setting his refill in front of him.

"I suppose that makes you even," Isabela laughed. "So what's this abomination look like? Aren't they usually all ' _grr, arg'_ with great big inside out looking bodies? I've seen a few, I can't imagine they'd blend in… even in Darktown." She waved her arms above her head, making a face.

"Like he lives in a sewer," Carver supplied. "And his coat has feathers on it."

"He's very tall," Malina said at the same time. "His hair's blonde. Past his collar. Wears it with some pulled back. He's got light brown eyes, and two freckles on the top of his hand. The left one."

"That is… very specific," Isabela said, laughing openly before she sang out, "some _body_ was _staring_." Malin made a face at her, blushing. "One important question, though," Isabela said, looking serious. "Very, _very_ important. _How_ is the backside?" She laughed again, elbowing Carver when he made a face.

Malina couldn't help but laugh with her, finding Isabela's good mood infectious. "Fantastic," she said after a moment before breaking down in giggles and finishing the rest of her drink.

Carver sighed, trying not to roll his eyes. If it was Malina he would have happily made several comments, but Isablea was very pretty, wore very little clothing, and most importantly, wasn't his sister. "You know," he said, pointing across the table, "he might just kill you if he sees you again. You know his dirty secret and all."

"Now you're being absurd," Malina said. "He's half starved, so he's no threat physically, and I'm just as much a mage as him." While true, that didn't take into account whatever _else_ he was, in addition to being a mage.

Carver raised his eyebrow, glancing at Varric who only shrugged. "Don't look at me," he said. "I'm not about to get in the middle of a sibling argument. Not sure how things work for you, but in my family it means someone's likely to get hit with a crossbow bolt."

Carver snorted. "I can't help but notice, sister, you only gave reasons why he _couldn't_ kill you. You didn't even bother trying to argue that he wouldn't try."

Malina sighed. "Carver, considering how he looked when we left that Chantry, I'm half-expecting to walk into that clinic and find he's killed _himself_."

The next morning, after waking, she stumbled into the kitchen. Digging through the coldbox, Malina vaguely wondered if anyone would notice that Gamlen no longer had to purchase ice for it. It didn't _seem_ like the sort of thing people would track, but then, it was sold by the Chantry. Maybe that was one of the ways they sniffed out households with their own mage? Feeling the onset of a headache, she decided it wasn't something that needed intense thought so soon after rolling out of bed.

Wrapping a few pieces of chicken in paper, leftover from the previous evening's meal, she set them in a basket. Glancing around, she added a couple apples, a small bit of cheese that was, in honesty, probably past its prime, and a substantial chunk of day-old bread.

Tucking a pretty piece of fabric over the top to hide everything, Malina winced. It was a _lot_ of food. But she was the only one who liked apples, so no one could complain about that. Her mother would be up soon to bake that day's bread, and the leftover would have ended up scattered for the birds. Carver might complain about the chicken… but he wasn't half starved and living in a sewer. And she had done all the cooking last night, anyways. And bought the chicken. If she wanted to give it away… that was her business. Especially since this was the entire reason she had cooked too much to begin with.

Sighing, she pushed her hair behind her ear, signaled to Ser Barks to follow, and closed the door, locking it carefully.

 _This is bribery_ , her mind helpfully pointed out as Malina walked to the nearest Darktown entrance.

 _It's… an apology_ ,she told herself. After all, she hadn't been at her _best_ when they met, and his day had only gone downhill from there.

Shaking her head, she realized the absurdity of arguing with her own mind and yanked on the rope to lower herself below ground.

Darktown was, if anything, _worse_ than Lowtown when it came to finding your way around. While Ferelden seemed simple… a town square, streets spread out from the middle, Kirkwall seemed to be made of nothing but mazes inside of mazes. She got lost several times. One man attempted to mug her, but thought better of it when she set his hair ablaze and Ser Barks latched onto his calf. Witnessing that, the small group of teenage thugs who had been watching the exchange slunk deeper into the shadows, nervous voices carrying to her but not the actual words being said.

Finally, she saw the lantern. Walking over, Malina could hear voices inside. _"How did you end up on fire?"_

 _"It… er… cooking accident."_

 _"You need to be careful, cooking over flame down here,"_ came the response. There was a pause and then, in a more terse voice, _"is that a dog bite?"_

Waiting in the shadows, she listened to the man thank Anders and back out of the clinic quickly. The healer, for his part, no longer seemed to buy any of that 'cooking accident' story. "If you come back with a stab wound and claim your hand slipped chopping carrots I won't be so willing to help," he called from the doorway. "If I wanted to heal people who preyed on others I would have stuck to patching up templars at the Circle of Magi!"

With more grumbling, this time to himself, Anders turned and walked back into the clinic. He was already bent over a new patient when Malina entered. When the elderly woman hopped down and left, thanking him profusely, Anders turned to her. "Here to threaten me again?" he asked, sounding amused.

"Wasn't planning on it," Malina said, blushing. "I mean, I _can_ , if you want. Bully you into eating or something, maybe?"

"Eating?" he asked, looking down at himself, raising one arm to inspect it. "So… you came to call me skinny, then?" He looked offended, although Malina didn't actually see anything wrong with how he looked.

Malina groaned, holding the basket out. "I… I'm not very good at first impressions," she offered. "Or second ones, apparently. But I'm not a bad cook." He stared at her blankly so she sighed, moving towards the back of the room. When he didn't follow, Malina doubled back, shoving him towards the table. "Here, eat," she insisted. Looking down, she paused. "There's not… blood or anything on this table, is there?"

"Yes," Anders said drily. "I delivered a baby here just yesterday. Forgot about all the cots." He rolled his eyes. "I know this place isn't much, but it _is_ clean."

She sat down. "Must be nice. Mine isn't."

"Your house isn't clean?"

She shook her head. "Well, it's not my house for one: we live with my uncle Gamlen. And no, not clean. Varric says it smells like old cabbage. I think the smell is actually Gamlen, personally, but I don't like getting that close."

"And… this is where you cook?"

She snorted. "We can't all have our own place in a sewer, you know. You'll be fine, my cooking hasn't killed anyone." She paused just long enough for him to look into the basket before adding "yet."

"Quite the case you're building," he said.

"When was the last time you ate?" she countered. When he appeared to be calculating something in his mind Malina snorted. "Exactly. Eat up. It's fine."

Feeling rather proud of herself for actually carrying on a normal conversation, Malina made sure to look at her own hands, the tabletop, the room they were sitting in, anything to avoid staring at Anders and lapsing back into the mumbling idiocy that had plagued their first meeting.

She had packed enough for two, half-hoping he would invite her to join him. Since Anders seemed to have no intention of doing that, she sat while he ate, looking around the rough clinic. "This is actually good," he said, words slurred through a mouthful of chicken. "Really good, in fact." Two bones, cleaned to a shine, sat in front of him and he was quickly devouring a third. Even _Carver_ didn't eat that quickly.

"Try and sound more surprised," she said, raising an eyebrow and looking straight at him. He blushed, actually biting his lip, and her stomach lurched.

"I… I didn't mean it like that," Anders said quickly. "It's just… I've never met a mage who could cook anything before."

"My mother taught me," she said. "She's better. Which is funny, since she never even saw a kitchen until she was twenty years old."

He looked surprised. Finishing the fourth piece of chicken, he began to work on the apples. "Oh.. bread!" Anders mumbled, more to himself than her. "How'd she manage that?" he asked, mouth full once more.

Apparently table manners weren't covered by the Circle of Magi, she thought, glancing away. "Ever been to Hightown?" she asked. "Seen that big boarded up estate?"

He nodded. "Think someone's squatting in there, though. Mercenaries, maybe."

"Worse," she said. "Slavers." His face wrinkled in distaste. "But anyway, it's the Amell estate. That's us. Amell, I mean."

"Thought your name was Hawke," he said, sniffing the cheese and setting it aside in favor of the bread.

"It is. But before Mother was a Hawke she was an Amell. I guess proper noble ladies don't cook. But… formerly noble ladies who marry way, _way,_ below their station and flee the country do."

When a woman came in, carrying a coughing young boy, Malina waved at Anders to continue eating. "I'm good for more than blowing up templars," she said, her voice too quiet for anyone but Anders to hear. Walking over to the young woman, who wasn't much older than herself, she reached out, taking the little boy.

Holding the toddler on her hip, Malina made a face so he would laugh, letting her get a peek into his throat. Nodding at what she saw, Malina held one hand up. "Now, you need to think about the color blue. Can you do that for me?" He nodded and she held one hand up, holding him tightly in the other. Making a face of exaggerated strain, she looked at him. "Blue, remember!" The little boy nodded, face scrunched in concentration. "A-ha!" Malina said, hand glowing as she held it to his throat. "You did it!"

Handing the now-healed child back to his grateful mother, Malina smoothed her skirt. The boy squirmed free, bolting over to her dog with a laugh. "Might want to keep him eating soft foods for another day, but he should be fine." Seeing him attempting to climb onto the dozing mabari, the mother laughed before calling him back over and leading him out. Returning to where Anders was sitting she sighed. "That's the worst case of strep throat I've ever seen."

He actually laughed at that. "You sound like I did a few months ago. Everything I saw was the worst… whatever it was I'd ever encountered. Except for the stab wounds. No one manages to outdo the Grey Wardens in that regard." Anders shook his head. "You're lucky, I was almost sick the day I encountered the worst festering abscess I'd ever seen."

"Ew," Malina said. "I suppose it could be worse, though. Worst case of orlesian pox or something."

"Seen it," Anders replied. "He was being a right ass about me warning him to be more careful about, um…" he blushed once more and Malina laughed. "Right," Anders said. "So I decided to give him a little scare. The bastard up and fainted when I mentioned amputation."

"Amputation!"

"Well… maybe I went a bit far," he admitted. Anders glanced back into the basket- it was now completely empty. "Thanks again for the food."

"Did you actually have time to eat it all?" she said, surprised. "I would have guessed you hid the rest quickly when I wasn't looking."

He shrugged. "I guess I'm still used to eating around Grey Wardens. And they eat a _lot_."

Malina had been curious about that. "You said… they were looking for you?"

Anders made a noncommittal sound. "They might be. I suspect they weren't happy about the maps," he mused.

"Why did you take the maps?" she asked.

"Because I was angry," came the reply. "Sorry, no better reason than that. They… let's just say we didn't part on the best of terms." He made a face. "I told myself it was so I could avoid the Deep Roads entrances, and thus places where Grey Wardens are likely to be found, but really… I can find the entrance to the Deep Roads just fine on my own. They tend to be located in areas swarming with darkspawn. It sticks out."

"So why'd you join in the first place?"

He snorted. "Cute how you think most mages have any choice about what they do in life." He looked bitter for a moment. "You really have no idea how lucky you have it, do you? I didn't _ask_ to join. I was conscripted." He sighed then. "I'm being unfair, though. The Commander, my _first_ Commander, she did it to save me from the templars. Really, she probably did save my neck. I'm sure they would have hung me once I was back at the Circle." Malina gasped and Anders smiled grimly. "I got out. I got caught. I wasn't going to go back. When the Commander found me I was surrounded by dead templars and dead darkspawn." Malina's jaw dropped at his casual admission of guilt, a small thrill rushing through her.

"She didn't care that you kil—"

"No, she didn't," he cut her off as he misread her surprise for criticism. " _She_ understood that sometimes people get backed into a corner. From what I know, her life in Orzammar was no picnic before she was conscripted, either." He made a face, standing up. "I don't want to talk about the Wardens. I was one. I suppose I still am, since the taint and the nightmares don't exactly go away when you turn in your griffon robes. That's that." Anders got up, stalking across the room. "I'd rather not talk about this anymore."

 _Touchy_ , she thought to herself, realizing that was his signal that the visit was at an end.

Malina stood up with a sigh. "I… should get going," she said. Anders didn't reply. "I wanted to ask you something, though." He turned, eyebrow raised. "I need your help with something."

"I figured as much," he replied.

She expected him to refuse immediately, so the words began to pour out. "There's a missing apostate boy," she said quickly. "His mother was going to turn him over to the templars so he ran off. I promised I'd look for him, but I don't want to give him to the Circle, and I don't know what to do with a teenage apostate since I can't very well hide him at my uncle's house so I hoped you might have some idea."

He blinked several times. "Wait… _what_?" Shaking his head, Anders hopped up to sit on a table. "Runaway apostate… turned in by his own _mother?_ " he made a face of disgust. "Not that _you'd_ know what that's like… but let's say I can sympathize." Jumping back down, he nodded once he was on his feet. "I'll help," Anders said. "Of course I'll help. When do we go?"

"Um… now?" she said. They'd have to stop and get Varric and Isablea from the Hanged Man, and her brother, but since her only clue was the man in the Lowtown markets it wouldn't be out of the way.

"Now works," Anders said, smiling again as he grabbed a staff from against the wall. They walked in silence, Malina leading the way. She had been chattering almost nonstop since arriving at his clinic and had, to her shock, run out of topics to fill the void. He laughed at her bad jokes about half the time, which was better than the average, and looked annoyed at things she said slightly more frequently than that.

Finally, Anders decided to speak up. "Just before you walked in I had a patient. Dog bite and burns. Does that sound at all familiar?"

She only smiled, shushing her dog with a hand wave when it became clear he was hoping Anders would praise him for bravery. "You know," Malina said, smiling cheerfully. "It's funny, to most people, a mage just look like any other person, carrying only a big stick."

He looked over, shaking his head. "You should have killed him. He would have killed you, and the next person might not be a mage."

"He may hold off, worrying they are," Malina countered.

Anders snorted. "Death would have been justice for him. You think he hasn't killed before?" He yanked on the rope of the lift with surprising strength. "You left him alive to find another victim."

"I… I didn't think of it like that," she replied, too surprised by his sudden ferocity to argue. She had, up until that point, been rather pleased with herself for finding a way out of the situation that didn't involve any deaths.

"Of course not," Anders said. "Why would you? You have no idea what life is like down here."

"I'm sorry," Malina mumbled, walking into Lowtown and towards her house. Anders didn't reply, but the expression on his face said more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Justice is such an asshole... really._  
>  _I know, ages since an update. AOA needs it more, but this wrote easier. I've been dealing with some medical issues as of late. Nothing life threatening, but serious enough to put a definate crimp in my style._ _They finally figured out what's wrong with me, though, so hopefully after a few more weeks I'll be feeling more like a person again and turning my head won't be enough to wear me out for the better part of an hour._
> 
>  _Oh, and to anyone with a tablet, or thinking of getting a tablet- most of this chapter was written on my iPad on the PlainText app, with formatting and tweaking done later on in Word. Typed about 50/50 between on the glass itself and on a bluetooth keyboard (zaggmate, in my case). But... in either case, a tablet has proven to me that it's totally a viable writing tool when you don't want to lug an entire laptop around. So if you've been wondering- there you go._
> 
>  _Thanks so much to all my readers and reviewers!_

**Author's Note:**

> This wouldn't let me write anything else until I started it. Blame Anders. But, now that I've got my toe in the DA2 water I'm already over my writers block with Apostates of Amaranthine. Which I will update here. Like, now.
> 
> Apparently I do need four ongoing fics. ;)
> 
> Bioware owns the world, I just like to visit.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


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